


While the Captain Was Sleeping

by czarina_kathryn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, First Time, Gunshot Wounds, HYDRA mole hunt, Holidays, M/M, Making Friends, Marriage Proposal, Pretend Phil Coulson/Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers in a coma, While You Were Sleeping AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 80,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/czarina_kathryn/pseuds/czarina_kathryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil has resigned himself to his lonely life as a menial worker at SHIELD, but when a misunderstanding convinces everyone that he’s Captain America’s fiancé, Phil jumps at the chance to have one happy Christmas with the Avengers. However, with HYDRA and Nick Fury involved things are more complicated than they seem and to make matters worse, Phil is falling in love with his fake fiancé’s teammate. </p><p>An AU based on the movie While You Were Sleeping (1995).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey Coulson, have you finished copying my requisition forms yet?” Agent Morse asked, stalking up to Phil’s cubicle and glaring at the whole area like it had personally offended her. 

“Purple folder,” Phil said, not even bothering to look up from the SITREP he was copying into triplicate. It was tedious work, but necessary as SHIELD had apparently learned the hard way that computers and copiers were not unhackable – and SHIELD was nothing if not paranoid about its most top secret information. Hence the need for a copy pool with ridiculously high security clearances. Sometimes it felt like all Phil did with his life was copy forms; seriously he was even starting to have nightmares about SHIELD deciding they really needed four copies instead of three. 

“Thanks, Coulson!” Morse called over her shoulder, grabbing her paperwork and heading for the door, no doubt eager to go home. Phil felt the corner of his mouth lift in a sad sort of amusement. You could always tell a junior agent since they still bothered to thank him, Morse would have to get out of that habit if she was going to make senior agent one day. 

Phil distantly heard the elevator doors close behind Morse with a quiet snick and the resulting silence was broken only by the sound of Phil’s pen and breathing. It was 10 pm and the department was empty. Setting down his pen and stretching his right hand, Phil allowed himself the luxury of a sigh, something he would never dream of had his colleagues been present. 

He should be home right now. He should be sitting in his shitty apartment, feeding his fish, watching Supernanny, and trying to avoid being sexually harassed by his landlord’s skeevy son. Instead, he was here at SHIELD. May was supposed to have been on evening duty with him, but Melinda had a set of elderly parents and a not-so-ex-husband waiting for her. So Phil had found himself offering to take on the remaining paperwork. 

It was Christmas Eve after all, a time for family and Melinda deserved to spend it with her loved ones. All Phil had at home was his goldfish and apparently that didn’t qualify as family in the eyes of the world. He tried to work up some righteous indignation on his (and Frisky’s) behalf, but it just wouldn’t come. Because his colleagues weren’t wrong, he was alone. Terribly and irrevocably alone in a way no goldfish could ever fix. 

Giving his head a shake, Phil pushed back from his desk. He was getting fucking maudlin; it was just pathetic. Snagging his half-empty Captain America mug, he headed for the break room. Maybe if he were lucky there would be some coffee left, hot coffee. Hell, at this point he’d even take some lukewarm coffee and be grateful. 

Senior Agent John Garrett was in the break room, drinking what appeared to be the last of the coffee, when Phil entered. Phil briefly considered strangling him, but decided that the resulting reprimands would not be ideal for his future job security. Although, if Garrett kept smirking like that, Phil might have to reconsider the value he placed on his job. 

“Keep working on that poker face, Coulson,” Garrett joked with a sneer, “And maybe one day you’ll get to fill out reports instead of copying them.” Phil remained impassive as Garrett downed the rest of the coffee in a single gulp. 

“Imagine my utter joy at that prospect,” Phil replied dryly, not allowing any of his embarrassment to bleed through. Skillfully maneuvering around Garrett, Phil grabbed the coffee can and set to making a new pot, determinedly not paying attention as Garrett left his cup in the sink without bothering to clean it and headed toward the door. Phil was just allowing himself to relax a little, when Garrett’s footsteps paused. 

“Oh, Coulson,” Garrett drawled, his voice innocent enough to set off every alarm Phil had, “I’m going to drop my reports on your desk. Be a pal and have them done by morning.” 

Normally Phil wouldn’t have bothered to engage with Garrett and risk an argument, but this was a little too much to stomach. Setting down the coffee can, Phil slowly turned around and gave Garrett his best dead-eyed stare (He’d modeled it off of one he’d observed Director Fury give an analyst working on the other side of the floor for providing incomplete information to the Avengers. Phil was rather proud of the results). 

“Tomorrow is Christmas, Agent Garrett. Even given the scintillating style of your reports, I highly doubt that anyone will either need or want them in the morning. I’ll handle them when I get in on the 26th.” Phil kept his face bland and voice reasonable, but apparently that wasn’t enough to keep Garrett’s temper in check. It was kind of embarrassing really - a senior agent who frequently worked with the Avengers ought to be able to keep a better handle on his reactions. 

Garrett got well inside Phil’s personal space and used his height advantage to loom over Phil in what was clearly intended to be a menacing manner. Phil did his best to seem less than impressed.

“Let me make something clear to you Coulson,” Garrett said, one of his fingers coming up to poke Phil in the chest, “I am a senior agent and, therefore, essential to both SHIELD and the Avengers. You, well, you’re a copier and compared to me you are nothing. SHIELD could get rid of you and never blink, so when I tell you to do something, you do it. I don’t give a fuck if no one reads my reports tomorrow. You will have them done by the morning or I will tell my personal friend Nick Fury about your insubordination and you’ll find yourself out of a job before you can say insubordination.” 

Halfway through Garrett’s rather overdone rant, Phil dropped his eyes, incapable of keeping his derision from showing and knowing that would only land him in more trouble.

After several moments of quiet, Phil realized that Garrett was waiting for a response. 

“Consider the reports done, sir.” Phil bit out, words clipped, but tone even. He was actually rather proud that he managed it. 

Garrett finally stepped back, giving Phil room to breathe and in a deliberate and childish move, Garrett knocked the open coffee can to the floor, spraying the grounds all over Phil’s feet. 

“Oh, and make sure you clean up this mess before you start my reports,” Garrett said, giving Phil a shit-eating smile as he walked out of the room with a jaunty step, clearly pleased with himself. 

Phil looked at his feet and the coffee grounds spread out in a fan all around them and did not sigh. He clearly should have strangled Garrett, job be damned. The fucker may have been a senior agent, but Phil knew he could take him any day of the week. In spite of working in the glorified secretary pool at SHIELD for two years, Phil hadn’t completely forgotten his training. And Phil would wager his ten years in the Rangers against Garrett’s smarmy overconfidence any day of the week. 

But jobs weren’t exactly a dime a dozen these days, so Phil did what he’d been doing for the past two years: got the dustpan and set to cleaning. At least working at SHIELD had some perks. Occasionally he even caught a glimpse of Captain America. And since Phil was kind of in love with the guy, it made up for a whole lot of indignity. 

It was 7 am when Phil finished the last of Garrett’s reports. He wasn’t sure what he hated more about them, Garrett’s shitty handwriting or the frankly ridiculous use of the thesaurus. No, it was definitely the thesaurus. 

Standing up, Phil stretched, enjoying the feel of his frozen muscles moving and the tension in his back easing. It was Christmas and he was going to go home and stare at his over-decorated fir tree. Then he was going to pretend that there were presents under said tree and that Frisky actually cared he was home. Merry Fucking Christmas to him. 

Phil shrugged into his wool overcoat and wearily made his way to the elevator. Due to the holiday, only a skeleton crew was working at SHIELD, so the elevator arrived mercifully fast. The lobby was unsurprisingly empty, although someone was just coming in through the revolving door. Phil shuffled to the security desk and swiped himself out as the guard pointedly ignored him in favor of the day’s newspaper. It wasn’t exactly what Phil would call state-of-the-art security, but it certainly wasn’t any of his business; he was just a walking talking photocopier after all.

Turning to leave Phil ran straight into a broad (and rather well-muscled torso). Clearly the lack of sleep had not been beneficial for his spatial awareness. Looking up, Phil lost the rest of his reasoning ability to pure shock – it was Captain America. He had touched Captain America’s chest. 

Captain. 

America’s.

Chest.

“Sorry about that,” the Captain said, patting a large warm hand on Phil’s shoulder. 

Phil wanted to say, “No problem,” and quite possibly, “I love you. Marry me.” But no words were making it out of his mouth in spite of his best efforts. The Captain smiled at him and Phil felt his knees go weak and wobbly in protest. It should not have been possible for the man to be anymore gorgeous, but dear lord that smile. 

“Well, Merry Christmas,” the Captain said. 

Phil was really trying to form some sort of coherent reply at this point. In all likelihood, this was the only chance he’d ever get to SAY something to Captain America and he did not want to waste it. 

Phil will swear up and down until the day he dies that he was opening his mouth to communicate with actual words when what seemed like a significant portion of the lobby exploded. Phil threw his hands up to protect his face, but Captain America was already in front of him, manhandling him toward the security desk. 

Something hit Phil’s head and the world grayed out, but he couldn’t have been out for long because when Phil regained consciousness he could smell burnt plastic and hear the staccato retort of bullets hitting marble flooring. Turning his head, Phil found he was lying on the floor behind the security guard’s desk. His head was in the process of seceding from the union of his body, but otherwise he didn’t appear to have any significant injuries. A particularly prolonged spat of gunfire inspired Phil to struggle off of the floor and obtain a crouched position. Still protected behind the desk, he assessed his situation. 

He had no gun (or weapons in general). He did have the limited shelter offered by the desk, so that was good. However, there was no sign of Captain America or the security guard, which was not so good. And, of course, he had zero idea who was attacking SHIELD. 

It was really a pretty sad list, but he could do something about his lack of intel. Waiting for a lull in the gunfire, Phil risked a glimpse around the side of the desk. A few seconds after his quick appearance a hail of bullets was turned in his direction, so Phil hastily threw himself to the opposite side of the desk. He hadn’t had long to look, but he’d had enough time to gather some relevant information. 

First, there was significant structural damage to the building entrance, which might prevent emergency personnel from easily getting through. The 10-15 hostiles present were all armed and apparently possessing a more than ample supply of bullets. On the floor were the bodies of 7 hostiles and the security guard. And Captain America was trying to pick off attackers with his shield and handgun, while using, of all things, the giant corporate holiday tree SHIELD had put up to blend in with their neighbors for cover. 

The Captain was clearly out numbered (and that tree was definitely not bullet proof), so it was time for Phil to do … something. 

Phil quickly inventoried the guard’s drawers and came up with a stapler, a pair of scissors, a one-shot taser (no extra cartridges), and an iPhone. Phil pried the scissors apart, using the stapler as a crowbar, and tested the balance of the individual blades carefully. They weren’t ideal, but he should be able to throw them with enough accuracy to implement a distraction. Hopefully that would allow Captain America to obtain better cover behind the desk, while Phil went after the security guard. It was likely that the man was already dead, but Phil was hardly going to leave him out there on the cold marble floor if there was even a remote chance he was still breathing. 

Phil grabbed the security guard’s iPhone and ruefully (and thankfully) considered the irony that it lacked a security password. Calling up the music folder, Phil ramped up the volume and then hit play on the last song the guard had been listening too. The twangy sounds of familiar Christmas tune began as Phil slid the phone across the floor towards a planter on the wall opposite the giant Christmas tree. The noise and movement drew the attention, and bullets, of the majority of the attackers, meaning that Phil’s half-assed plan was off to an excellent start. 

Phil swung himself up and over the desk, before throwing both of the scissor blades into the two closest black clad hostiles. The men dropped quietly as the blades hit them, the sounds lost amid the gunfire. Phil scrambled for the guard and found he was definitely dead. Not sparing a moment, Phil grabbed the guard’s gun from his limp hand and released the safety. Almost simultaneously he fired the taser at one of the men who had finally noticed him, pumping him full of electricity. This effectively drew the other attackers’ attention and ruined Phil’s advantage of surprise. 

About the same time, Captain America broke away from the cover of the Christmas tree. Rather than heading for the relative safety of the security desk, as Phil had hoped he would, he ran toward their attackers, launching his shield with a powerful throw. Terrified for the Captain’s safety, Phil’s old training kicked in and he systematically took down the hostiles who turned to aim at him or the Captain. Phil took one bullet to the thigh, but through sheer force of will he kept his feet under him and kept firing. 

Things might have ended well, considering the odds, but then one of the men got in a lucky shot right before the Captain’s shield took him down. The man had managed to wing the Captain’s right arm with a bullet, just as the Captain turned to engage another of the attackers in hand-to-hand combat. The Captain managed a clean knock out even with limited use of his arm, but this distraction in combination with the bullet wound in his arm proved to be less than fortuitous. Not accounting for the injury in his arm, the Captain reflexively reached out to catch his swiftly returning shield with his right hand. 

Phil watched as the world seemed to slow down and the Captain’s arm, unable to stop the shield’s momentum, snapped back and vibranium slammed into his skull with a sickening crunch. The Captain fell unconscious to the floor and the last hostile still standing leveled his gun at the prone Captain. 

In utter horror, Phil registered the fact he was out of bullets. 

Lacking options, Phil did something amazingly stupid. He began yelling and ran straight at the gunman. This certainly got the man’s attention and he was in the process of swinging his gun toward Phil, when Phil flung the guard’s empty gun at the man’s head. It only grazed his temple, but that was all the advantage Phil needed. The man’s first shot went wide and then Phil was able to grab the gun with his left hand and shove it toward the ceiling. He then drove the heel of his right hand up into the man’s nose and watched with grim satisfaction as his head snapped back and blood began pouring from his nostrils. 

Disoriented the attacker loosened his grip on his gun. Not even bothering to get a proper hold on the weapon, Phil yanked it out of the man’s hand by the barrel and swung it directly into his face. He dropped to the ground like a stone and Phil nearly staggered in relief as a deafening silence descended on the lobby. 

Phil could distantly hear the wail of sirens, but inside the lobby all was quiet. Turning toward the Captain, Phil’s right leg trembled ominously, the benefits of adrenaline already wearing off and pain slipping in in its wake. He managed to make it to the Captain’s side before the pain and exhaustion dragged him to the ground. Hand shaking, Phil reached out to touch the Captain’s forehead, gently brushing his blonde hair to the side. This revealed a sluggishly bleeding gash and Phil’s tired brain informed him that the wound would definitely need stitches. 

Phil struggled inelegantly out of his blood-smeared coat and then tucked it around the Captain, in an effort to ward off the onset of shock. His hands were trembling so badly by that point it took him three tries to successfully yank his handkerchief out of his suit pocket. Once in hand, he pressed the cloth as firmly as possible to the gash on the Captain’s head. Phil was aware of a moment’s gratefulness that the Captain was spared the pain of putting pressure on the wound, even if it was by unconsciousness. 

A noise behind him startled Phil badly, a sign of just how out of it he was. Instinctively Phil threw himself over the Captain’s chest, protecting as much of his torso as possible, and yanked the shield around to protect his and the Captain’s heads. 

An astonished voice emanated from the door by the emergency staircase. “Holy shit.” 

Phil glanced over the shield. It was a young girl, probably barely old enough to be out of college, and she was clutching a giant first aid kit and had a SHIELD emblem on her over-sized tactical vest. Phil could have cried in gratitude.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I didn’t get here faster,” she shouted, rushing across the lobby toward them (dodging bodies skillfully enough to impress Phil). “I was 15 floors down when the alarm went off. First, I couldn’t figure out what was going on and then I had to climb like 15 flights of stairs!” She dropped the first aid kit next to them and kept talking while she dug through the case, sending Band-Aids and cough drops flying left and right. 

“It’s my first month as an official SHIELD employee, you know. And I get that I’m still in training, but you think they could have fucking covered this kind of situation first, am I right!?! Someone should really get on that shit!” Pausing for a breath, she turned large brown eyes onto Phil. 

“Are you hurt?” she asked, sounding aghast as her eyes tracked over the blood coating Phil’s pants. 

“The Captain,” Phil managed to get out, “took a bad hit to the head. It’s bleeding and he hasn’t been conscious since.” Phil could hear his voice slurring as he kept talking, but he couldn’t seem to bring it under control.

The girl looked at the Captain and then swung her gaze back to Phil. “Not to be weird,” she said, sounding apologetic, “And, of course, I’m not a doctor, but I think Captain America will survive until the EMTs get here. You, I’m not so sure about. So why don’t you tell me where all that blood is coming from.”

“M’ leg,” Phil mumbled, his hand unconsciously creeping over to grip the Captain’s arm, as he attempted to shift his leg into the girl’s field of view. 

Her eyes were as big as saucers as she whipped a wad of gauze out of her pack and pressed it to the bullet hole. Pain shot through Phil like lightning, and he could see the white gauze disappearing to red, even as his vision began to fade. The girl cursed and running out of gauze, struggled out of her tac vest to whip her flannel shirt off and press that to his leg as well. Little black spots were completely obscuring Phil’s vision at that point, but it felt incredibly important to make sure the girl would take care of Captain America. So he grabbed her arm and managed to lift his head off of his chest to look at her.

“The Captain,” was as far as he got before she cut him off.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she shouted, “The Captain’s fine. He’s a goddamned super soldier. Now is the time to be worrying about yourself, you big idiot!”

Phil felt his brow crinkle in confusion. And suddenly his face was pressed into the cold marble, wet and sticky with blood. His last conscious thought was, “But he has to be okay. I’m going to marry him.” He may or may not have said that out loud.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve Rogers,” the doctor said gently, “You know, Captain America … your fiancé.”

Surprising himself, Phil woke up in a hospital bed to find he had not died of blood loss. Everything hurt and his throat felt like sandpaper, but he was undeniably alive, so he felt comfortable declaring this a victory. 

“I see you’ve decided to wake up Mr. Coulson,” a low voice said from his left side. Phil let his head fall in that direction, revealing an older black man with whitening hair wearing a lab coat. One Doctor Streiten according to the embroidered nametag. Phil tried to say, “Yes,” but it came out sounding like a car driving over gravel. 

Dr. Streiten kindly adjusted Phil’s bed, so he was more or less sitting up and then helped him take a sip of water. 

“You were lucky, young man,” Streiten sternly informed him, “You lost a lot of blood, but not as much as we feared. It appears that in addition to blood loss, a compounding factor in your loss of consciousness was exhaustion and neglecting to eat.”

Phil winced at that, mostly since it was true; he had been neglecting his rest and food lately (for a given value of lately that covered the entirety of the past 2 years).

“I can’t help but think that Captain America would like it if his fiancé took better care of himself,” Dr. Streiten said, giving Phil a significant glance.

Phil eyed the doctor warily. That was a very odd thing to say, but probably accurate. Captain America was obviously a very caring person and would no doubt be even more so toward his fiancé, if he ever had one. The meaning of the glance was less clear. 

“But you’ll be glad to hear that Captain Rogers is in stable condition and we are seeing brain activity. However, we felt the best course of action would be to place him into a medically induced coma, to allow his unique biochemistry ample time to repair any brain damage sustained from the blow to the head.” 

Phil was grateful for the knowledge that the Captain was going to be all right, but even he knew the doctor shouldn’t be telling him anything about the Captain’s condition. He definitely wasn’t cleared for that information. 

“Rogers.” Phil said slowly. It was odd to hear the Captain referred to by anything other than ‘America.’ 

“Steve Rogers,” the doctor said gently, “You know, Captain America … your fiancé.” 

Phil dropped the cup of water he’d been holding and started coughing on air. Eyes watering and breath wheezing, Phil looked away from the doctor only to find himself confronted with Captain America … Steve Rogers … lying in the bed next to him, no more than a yard away. 

Phil strongly considered the idea he may have actually died and gone to heaven (a heaven where he was engaged to Captain America!), but his leg seemed to be hurting more than it ought to if he were really dead. 

“Having a bit of a memory lapse, I see,” the doctor said, “It was obviously a very shocking incident. You also took a hit to the head, didn’t you?” Dr. Streiten tilted Phil’s head away from Captain America and began flashing a bright light into his eyes. 

Voice still strained, Phil managed to say, “I think there’s been a mistake.” 

Before he could elaborate, the door to the hospital room swung open with a bang and a group of loudly talking and wildly gesticulating people all but tumbled into the small space. 

The loudest voice was emanating from the man dressed in a ridiculous red cape, who was towering over the rest. Phil may not have much use for ‘modern’ superheroes (he preferred his vintage, i.e. Captain America), but even he recognized the man – or more accurately, demigod – as Thor. 

“Good Doctor!” Thor boomed, “What has befallen our friend?!” Phil may not have had a severe head injury, but if Thor spoke any louder there was a significant possibility that his head would in fact explode. 

“This is a hospital Mr. Thor, so do please keep your voice down. As for Captain Rogers, he was injured in an apparent HYDRA attack on SHIELD headquarters.”

“Motherfuckers! Why the hell wasn’t I informed? And who the fuck did I leave in charge for Christmas?” Director Fury was unsurprisingly clothed in his black leather coat, but in deference to the holiday he appeared to have a decorative Christmas tree brooch attached to his lapel. 

Yanking out his phone, Fury whirled theatrically and headed out of the room, thankfully not giving Phil a second glance. Phil was doing his best to remain non-descript and very small, it would not do to attract the attention of a room full of very deadly people, unless absolutely necessary. 

“What injuries has Steve sustained?” asked a quiet voice from behind Thor. A shift in the crowd brought Dr. Banner to the front. 

“The Captain is suffering from a bullet wound to his arm and severe head trauma. We currently have him in a medically induced coma, since we are uncertain as to the extent of the damage.”

Dr. Banner began to turn decidedly green around the edges, causing everyone in the room to freeze; Phil contributed by forgetting to breathe. 

Dr. Streiten looked alarmed and said, “Are you alright, Dr. Banner? You aren’t feeling … angry?”

“Of course he’s angry you halfwit,” snarled the Black Widow as she made her way to Banner’s side and helped him sit down.

“He doesn’t like it when we get hurt,” explained Tony Stark, “But he’s only hulked out in the hospital twice this year!”

Dr. Streiten did not look reassured. Phil agreed whole-heartedly with Dr. Streiten. 

“But Brucie-goosie is fine! See, hardly green at all. Let’s just try and limit the surprises. We prefer to ease him into these sorts of things,” Stark attempted to ruffle Dr. Banner’s hair, but Agent Romanov slapped him away. 

Fury marched back into the room still angrily muttering. “My headquarters get attacked and the only thing I hear is that Captain Fucking America is in the hospital. Why the fuck don’t we get ourselves a goddamn phone tree? Motherfucking middle school PTAs have those.” Fury turned his one-eyed glare on Streiten, who seemed to shrink under the gaze. 

“They expect Cap to make a full recovery,” Stark said, breaking the silence, “But they’ve got him in a medically induced coma to speed things up.” Streiten nodded his head enthusiastically; clearly glad someone else had broken the news to Fury. 

Fury’s gaze swung toward Phil, and Phil carefully kept his face calm as he met his eye. 

“And who the hell is this?” Fury demanded, waving a hand at Phil.

Everyone turned toward him and Phil did not break out in a cold sweat, but it was a near thing. The combined focus of the Avenger’s was extremely unnerving. 

“I’m Phil Coulson,” Phil said, when it became clear no one else was going to contribute. Dr. Streiten, it appeared, had lost all capacity for speech.

“And why are you here?” Fury asked, slowly enunciating each word as if Phil could not otherwise be trusted to understand him.

Phil looked around warily. “I was just trying to figure that out. I expect I will be able to leave soon?” Phil turned his last statement into a question, hoping to encourage an answer out of Streiten. Everything hurt, but Phil was sure he could make it home … mostly sure. And it would be much nicer to suffer on the private luxury of his couch. 

A voice from the door caused everyone to turn toward it. “He’s here because he’s Captain America’s fiancé.” It was the girl from the lobby. She had lost the tac vest now and was much more relaxed. 

Phil was almost glad to see her, but then she went and opened her mouth and inexplicably told everyone he was engaged to Captain America. And while that would be awesome, it just wasn’t true. While Phil was busy keeping his face calm and frantically trying to figure out what was wrong with that girl, the room erupted into chaos. 

“WHAT?”

“ENGAGED?”

“And he didn’t tell ME? I thought we were besties!”

“Motherfucker.”

“He wouldn’t have gotten engaged without letting us know, would he?”

“What joyous news you bring, but I do not believe we have been introduced Fair Lady of Glad Tidings!”

Unsurprisingly, Thor’s voice won out. 

The girl actually looked a little uncomfortable now, which Phil thought was fair, since he was feeling pretty damn uncomfortable too. 

“I’m Skye,” she said, shooting a lightning fast glance at the assembled heroes. 

Fury ended up elaborating for her, when no further information was proffered. “This is AD Hill’s new protégé. Found her hacking SHIELD databases in a broke ass van in California.”

“Hey!” Skye exclaimed, “My van was not broke. It ran perfectly well.” 

Fury didn’t look impressed. “Probationary Agent Skye is in training right now. Hill was so impressed with her ability to hack ring tones that she pulled Christmas duty.” 

“Yeah, well, it was a good thing I did, because someone sensible needed to be there during the lockdown. And let me tell you, it was not going to be any of my fellow probies.”

“Yeah, but to get back on topic,” Stark interjected, “What’s with Spangles being engaged to what’s his face?”

“His name is Phil Coulson,” Skye said. “Oh, and sorry, for going through your pockets to find your ID Phil. I was very gentle, I promise.” Skye shot Phil a silly grin, like she genuinely might like him. Phil was pretty gobsmacked by that. “Also, can I just say, huge Iron Man fan, really love your work. I know some people in R and D who will absolutely die when they find out I was in the same room as you!” 

Fury cleared his throat and Skye shot him a look before straightening up out of her slouch. “Look, by the time I got to the lobby there were HYDRA goons lying dead all over the floor and right smack in the middle was this guy in a suit, bleeding everywhere, trying to protect Captain America.” 

Skye laughed, “I genuinely thought the guy must be nuts, but then I found out he and the Captain were engaged. After that it all made a lot more sense. I mean, here’s this guy bleeding out all over the floor and he’s more concerned about tucking a coat around Captain America, I thought he was crazy. Now I see that he is just really fucking adorable and they make one awesome couple.” 

Walking closer to Phil’s bed, Skye smiled again, “Can I come to your wedding, since I saved you from bleeding out and all? That would be fun right?”

Phil attempted to form a coherent response, “I mean, I … ” 

“But ENGAGED! We didn’t even know he was dating!” Stark shouted. 

“I mean to say, that I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Phil continued on. 

“I’m not feeling well,” Bruce murmured, sinking back into his chair, looking almost puce around the sides of his face.

“Something is not right here,” Romanov said, squeezing Banner’s hand tightly.

“That’s what I’m trying to point out,” Phil replied with relief. Finally someone who apparently realized how crazy this was. 

“Captain America wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Coulson, so I think we can give him the benefit of the doubt!” Skye shouted, crossing her arms and glaring at the lot of them like they were naughty children and not superheroes.

“You saved his life?” Banner asked, his voice low and intense.

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” Phil informed him, “I only did what anyone else would have done.”

“Really,” Fury drawled, “Because AD Hill just messaged me some rather interesting pictures of you taking out two attackers with a pair of scissors.” Fury leveled an assessing look at Phil. “That isn’t exactly a common occurrence, even at SHIELD.” 

Phil kept his mouth closed, unsure how to respond. He knew what his job at SHIELD was and he didn’t want to endanger it by saying something that could be construed as above his place. 

Caught up in trying not to utter a snippy reply, Phil was surprised by the arms that were abruptly thrown around his neck. Phil instinctively reached up to defend himself, only to realize that is was Dr. Banner who was clutching him. 

“Thank goodness you were there. I know Steve hasn’t always been happy in this day and age, but I’m so happy he found you. He must love you very much,” Bruce finished, pulling back to affectionately squeeze Phil’s shoulders. 

Once the simultaneous comfort and terror of being hugged by Bruce Banner wore off, Phil corralled his thoughts into order and again attempted to point out that he wasn’t Captain America’s fiancée. “I’m not … You see, we’re not …” His thoughts were apparently not as organized as he would have hoped. Taking a deep breath to start again, he was cut off by a surprisingly gentle tap on the arm from Natasha Romanov. 

“You don’t need to explain. I understand now that you were keeping it a secret. A very sensible thing to do since love makes you vulnerable and Steve wanted to protect you from his enemies. But you don’t need to fear Phil Coulson, we’re Steve’s family and it is our job to protect each and every one of his vulnerabilities. In our hands you’re safe and can relax your vigilance.” 

“That wasn’t what I was trying to say,” Phil started, but was cut off again by Thor.

“Indeed, Son of Coul, as you are Steve’s family, you are ours! We welcome you to our hearts and hearths!” Later it became apparent that Thor felt an appropriate end to his rousing speech would be to manfully clap Phil on his nearest appendage. Unfortunately for Phil this turned out to be the leg he’d been shot in only hours before. 

Dr. Streiten, finally regaining his voice, managed to say, “Don’t! His leg …” Before Phil’s world shifted from low level aching pain to intense fiery pain. Phil closed his eyes tightly, twisting his fists into the covers. He could feel his breath hissing out from between his clenched teeth, as he struggled not to whimper.

“Oh God! Literally! That was the leg he got shot in! Dude, didn’t you notice how he almost bled out all over my pants! Seriously, this blood is not coming out. Also, I’m pretty sure it’s medically ill-advised to go smacking bullet wounds so early on in the recovery process,” Skye said, racing over to the bedside to hang on to Thor’s arm, even though it would probably be difficult for a normal sized human to even slow Thor down.

“Son of Coul let me offer my heartiest apologies. I did not realize you had been so grievously injured protecting the Captain. I will most certainly find a way to make it up to you!” Thor boomed, thankfully being intercepted by a very determined Skye before he clapped Phil again. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Phil managed to bite out, “I’m really fine.” 

“Thor’s right! You have to come over, so we can make it up to you!” Stark said. “Besides, you have to meet Clint! He’ll be really sorry if he doesn’t get introduced.”

This was met with a low murmur of agreement throughout the room. 

“It’s ok, it’s really ….” Phil’s trailed off as his world blurred pleasantly and the pain began to recede. 

Dr. Streiten patted him on the arm. “A little more pain killer will set you to rights,” Streiten assured Phil. 

“Well, I’m no expert on being hospitalized … oh wait, yes I am! So I think we better leave Steve and Phil to rest. Also, I’m hungry. Seriously, someone needs to feed me before I keel over and die.” Stark’s voice sounded wispy, far away, and Phil wanted to look around to see why, but he discovered his eyes were closed and his head far too heavy to dream of movement. 

“See you later, Coulson!” Phil heard Skye’s chipper voice whisper in his ear, “Try not to take on any more HYDRA armies without calling me first!” 

Phil was being inexorably lulled to sleep, but in the back of his mind he had the niggling feeling that there was something very important he’d been trying to say. 

Phil woke to a darkened room, to find he was in surprisingly little pain. After waging a minor war with the sheets, he untangled himself enough to get an elbow under him. Levering himself up, he turned toward the other side of the room. And, yep, there was Captain America. He had not been in some ridiculous drug induced hallucination, after all. Flopping back down, Phil brought his hand up to cover his eyes, hindered only briefly by the miscellaneous wires and tubes that appeared to be sprouting from it. Why was this happening to him? Had he offended some deity in a previous life? 

More light streamed into the room as the door opened slowly, admitting a very ruffled head of dark drown hair. Phil caught a flash of bright eyes before they disappeared. Moments later, Skye tiptoed into the room, closing the door silently behind her. She turned toward Phil and smiled alarmingly. 

“Hey Coulson! I thought you might be up, painkillers wearing off and all that,” she whispered loudly, sneaking over to sit on the side of his bed. “Figured you might want some real food,” she informed him, digging around in her bag to grab a pack of Little Debbie powdered donuts and a bag of Cheetos. 

“Can’t say I don’t know how to treat a guy! Also, this was all I had in my quarters.” Skye’s face was making an adorable squished expression reminding Phil rather strongly of a puppy. 

“Look, Skye,” Phil started, pushing himself into a sitting position. A quick flash of pain shot through him, but Phil did his best to quell it. Skye apparently spotted it though, because she leapt up to pile pillows behind him, scolding him under her breath all the while about trying to get himself killed.

“Skye,” Phil said again, once she’d retaken her previous perch, “I need to know. Why did you tell everyone that Captain America and I … are engaged?”

Her brow crinkled in confusion, “What do you mean why? I said it because you told me so. Obviously!”

“I what?” Phil gasped, his face momentarily registering astonishment before he pulled it back to serenity. “I most certainly never told you or, indeed, anyone that. So you’d better explain what on earth you’re talking about.”

“Dude Coulson, I know you were like bleeding to death or whatever, but I find it a little hard to believe you don’t remember telling me that you and Steve were going to get married,” Skye informed him, raising her eyebrows in a textbook show of disbelief. 

“I …. Well, I suppose it’s possible that I said something to that effect,” Phil conceded, he had been pretty out of it at the time. “But we’re not engaged. He doesn’t even know I exist.” Phil did his best not to look lonely or sad about that fact, he wouldn’t want Skye to worry about him anymore than she already seemed to. 

Skye looked at him warily. “And what does that mean?”

“I mean, that the first time I met Captain America was this morning. And while I may have harbored some extremely unprofessional daydreams about marrying the man, they were only dreams - as in, not at all likely to come true. Delusions might even be a better word for them,” Phil admitted, looking over at the Captain’s sleeping face. He looked perfect except for the small white bandage on his forehead. Too perfect for Phil to ever dream of being good enough for. 

“Ok, wow,” Skye said, sounding unnerved, “This is not good. I totally just told all of the Avengers that you guys were engaged. Also Fury. And Hill! I am so fucked right now.”

“No, no!” Phil hastened to reassure her, not liking her panicked look, “It was my fault, Skye, we can just blame it all on me. In fact, I’ll tell them all the truth and then say I lied to you.”

“Do you want to get fired or something?” Skye asked incredulously, “Cause that is the shittiest not getting fired plan I’ve heard in a while.” 

Phil sighed, “To be honest, I probably should have left SHIELD a while ago. The only way I’m qualified for my job is security clearance, but I’ve been reluctant to go searching for a new position.” 

“Wait, so your plan is to get fired? In that case, great plan. Can’t go wrong!” Skye exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air like she was at the end of her rope. Then she winced and glanced guiltily over in the Captain’s direction whispering, “Sorry, Cap.” 

“He’s in a coma, you don’t exactly have to worry about waking him up,” Phil pointed out sardonically. 

Skye whipped around to pin him with a very impressive glare and said, “Your plan sucks, Phil Coulson. First of all, we can’t just spring this kind of information onto the Avengers unless you want to deal with big, green, and angry. Trust me on this one; from what Maria has told me Banner does not deal well with being lied to. Especially if he likes you - and he hugged you, so he definitely likes you!” Skye got off the bed and paced up and down the space between Phil and the Captain distractedly running her fingers through her hair. 

Phil wisely kept quiet and allowed her to think. He had some thinking to do too. He had not considered the problematic issue of revealing the truth to a man who had occasional hulk-outs. Not only would property be in danger, but it would pose a significant risk to people as well. And not just to Phil, who would deservingly be crushed, but to other residents of the hospital wing as well. 

“Ok,” Skye said, whirling around and pointing her finger at Phil, “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re just going to have to pretend that you are engaged to the Captain. And we’ll have all the time until he wakes up to think of a tactful way to tell everyone that you aren’t … you know, his fiancé. Or at least we can buy ourselves plane tickets to Tahiti or somewhere, so we can be not here when they find out.”

“I really feel like telling them sooner rather than later would be for the best,” Phil said. 

“Look, Phil, can I call you Phil? Actually you are way to cool to just be called Phil, you’re going to need a nickname. I will get on that, don’t worry,” Skye said, patting Phil’s arm reassuringly. “But look, given this is my first Christmas not living in a van or a foster home I think that it would be nice if no one had to spend the rest of the holiday season as a pulverized pancake. So clearly we should put off telling them until after New Years. Or, of course, if the Captain wakes up, whichever comes first. But presumably they’d be so distracted by the Captain coming out of his coma that they would consider our small lie a rather minor issue. Actually,” Skye said, visibly brightening, “that may be the best plan, just wait until the Cap wakes up!”

“We’re just going to end up digging a bigger hole for ourselves,” Phil pointed out, already feeling his will power crumbling under Skye’s smiling assault. 

“Look we just sprung this whole engagement on them, we can’t break it off now. I mean your fiancé is in a coma! It’s not cool to break up with a guy in a coma,” Skye pointed out reasonably, “It’s actually kind of a dick move and I can already tell you’re a stand up guy, PC. No, never mind, PC is definitely a no-go for the nickname. I’ll keep working on it.” 

“He isn’t my fiancé, Skye,” Phil reminded her, “So there wouldn’t be any breaking up. As there was never any being together.”

“Believe you me, Phil, most people would not see it that way. We’re in this mess and we’ve just got to see it through.” Skye widened her eyes at him and he could swear that her lower lip was actually trembling. “Please, Phil. Please, for me.”

“Fine!” Those ridiculous puppy eyes were positively lethal. Phil wasn’t entirely sure how anyone ever denied Skye anything when she turned her big brown eyes on them. “But,” Phil said, pointing a finger at Skye, “I’ll decide when we tell them.” 

“Deal!” Skye said, grabbing Phil’s out stretched finger and shaking it to seal the deal.

“This isn’t going to go well,” Phil sighed, leaning back heavily on his pillows, “This is not going to go well at all.”

“That’s the spirit, BC! No, still no good. BP? Even worse. Oh well,” Skye said, bouncing happily as she clapped her hands together. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it eventually.” 

“Where’s the ‘B’ from?” Phil asked wearily, still reeling from the lie he’d just agreed to help perpetuate.

Skye shot him a sly look, “BAMF, of course. Really Phil, you have got to keep up with me. Now, I’ll come by to see you tomorrow, but make sure you eat your food and get some sleep before then.” 

Inexplicably she kissed Phil on the forehead before whirling out of the room rather like a hurricane. Phil reached his hand up to touch the spot she’d kissed in wonder. How long had it been since anyone showed him affection. Much less the kind of careless affection that didn’t even need to be thought of. 

“Bye, Skye,” Phil murmured to the empty room. This was going to kill him. But for that brief second of feeling cared for, he would do not only this, but so much more. Maybe it was time to consider getting a cat, or something that wasn’t inside a glass tank, because he was clearly losing his mind. 

Phil ate his Cheetos and donuts in silence, which was broken only by the crinkle of plastic and beeping of monitors. When he’d wrangled the last of the powdered sugar, Phil felt fortified enough to make an attempt at moving his legs. 

Using his hands, Phil gently pulled his knee up. It hurt, but not unbearably. Carefully, Phil used his hands to slide his foot off the bed. Ok that hurt. With undignified flailing, Phil got his left leg off the bed too, and using that he was able to support himself enough to ease the pain back to manageable. 

Lying back on the bed, Phil took a deep breath, before he pushed himself up and made a grab for the IV pole-stand. Snatching it with the tips of his fingers, Phil wheeled it in and leaned heavily on it, as he scooted toward the edge of the bed. Letting his left foot take the majority of his weight, Phil carefully stood up. Gasping at the pain, Phil managed to shuffle over to the Captain’s bed. Right thigh trembling, Phil sank gratefully into the visitors’ chair. 

Phil just looked at the Captain for a couple minutes as he waited for his breathing to return to normal. The man was almost inhumanly pretty with all that blonde hair and strong jaw line. Phil wanted to reach out and touch, but he wasn’t so far gone as to not realize that would be way out of line. 

“I’m sorry. I know that isn’t good enough. But I am sorry.” Phil let his head sink down to the mattress alongside the Captain’s arm, his eyes closing in defeat and shame. 

“I’m not stupid you know, you’re Captain America. I’d be insane to think you’d look at me twice. I’m nothing compared to you,” Phil whispered, head still next to the Captain, as he unconsciously parroted Garrett’s words from the night before.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen, but that isn’t enough. I should have stopped it somehow. It’s just your … family, the Avengers, they really do know how to bulldoze a guy. Still, that’s not an excuse; I should have made them listen. And now, no matter what I do, I know I’m going to make Dr. Banner angry and cause all of your friends’ pain. When you wake up you’re never going to forgive me. But as long as you wake up, I think I can live with that.”

Phil fell silent, leaving his head pressed to the mattress. He was so tired. He almost wished he would wake-up in a minute to find out he’d passed out at his desk, and this was all a coffee fueled dream. 

But … but that was the problem, he didn’t want this to be a dream. He couldn’t help but guiltily bask in the friendliness of the Avengers, the affection and care proffered by Skye, in the fact that he was in the same room as Captain America, close enough to touch if he dared. Thoughts of recrimination and guilt followed Phil into a restless sleep filled with dreams where he hadn’t been fast enough and the Captain was lying in a pool of blood on the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Really?” Phil said, “This is the problem and not my ‘fiancé’?”

“Rise and shine, Snuggle Bunny!”

Phil bolted upright, leg pulling uncomfortably at the movement. Eyes wide he turned to find himself once again faced with the Avengers. They appeared to be watching him with varying degrees of fondness. 

“We brought you coffee,” Stark said, offering him a cup. Phil could have cried he was so happy at the mere prospect of caffeine.

“We figured coffee would be ok, since the Doc says you’re getting out this afternoon,” Bruce informed him, eyeing Phil’s hand, which had apparently nudged up against the Captain’s while Phil slept. Embarrassed, Phil yanked his hand away with a little too much force and the taped down cannula attaching him to his IV fluids ripped out. 

“Damn it,” Phil said, although he was honestly more focused on acquiring his cup of coffee from Stark at the moment than worrying about his IV. 

“A Doctor, get a DOCTOR!” Stark started hollering. “Holy shit, his IV is coming out, oh my god, we broke him! Steve is going to kill us!”

“Calm down Stark!” Romanov growled, shouldering past him to grab Phil’s arm. 

“It’s really fine,” Phil assured them, “They’ll just stick it back in.” Phil was more concerned about Stark potentially disastrous gesticulating with his coffee. 

Dr. Streiten hurried into the room, apparently summoned by Thor, who shared Stark’s paranoia. 

Taking in the situation, and absence of Director Fury, Dr. Streiten relaxed and made his way to Phil. 

“Young man, you were supposed to stay in your own bed. I suppose the nurses thought you were too cute to move. Mr. Thor, will you please help me move Mr. Coulson back to his own bed,” Streiten said.

“I got over here on my own and I can get back on my own,” Phil informed him crossly as he levered himself to his feet. This went surprisingly better than last time. That was as far as he got, though, before Thor swept him off his feet and plopped him back on his bed without batting an eyelash. 

“Given your imminent release, I don’t believe we need to put back in the cannula,” Streiten told them, “In fact, I have no problem releasing you now, provided you have someone to look after you.”

Phil did not feel guilty at all about saying, “Definitely, one of my friends already promised to come pick me up and make sure everything is fine at home.” 

“Excellent,” Streiten said, “I’ll go prepare the paperwork.”

“Son of Coul, your friend need not come and get you! I will gladly squire you home!” Thor boomed.

“Ah, that won’t be necessary,” Phil told him, “He’s already on his way.” He was already several lies down, so a few more couldn’t hurt. 

“I see,” Thor said, deflating visibly and Phil almost felt guilty for not letting him help. Which really was not how these sorts of situations were supposed to work. You were supposed to feel guilty for making someone help you not … not help you.

“Perhaps it is for the best Thor; we do have a busy day planned,” Romanov said. 

Stark snapped his fingers, “That’s right!! We’re celebrating Christmas today since yesterday was a wash and I’m supposed to invite you. Orders straight from Pepper, so you aren’t allowed to say no! Besides Clint will be there!” 

“I don’t think I’d be the best company right now,” Phil pointed out, but it sounded like a pretty pathetic excuse even to him. He knew he should be trying much harder to turn down the invitation, but it was hard turning down the idea of a family Christmas. And it was just being offered to him on a silver platter. When would he ever get a chance like this again? 

So Phil let the combined powers of Banner and Stark talk him into coming over for a Christmas dinner. Stark was even insisting on sending a car to pick him up. And when Stark finally handed over the coffee it had become apparent that it was the world’s most sinfully delicious coffee ever. Every time Phil took a sip it was like coffee nirvana. The whole thing was ridiculous and Phil regretted it (although, not the coffee, no one could regret that) almost as soon as the Avengers walked out the door. 

What on earth was he thinking? Bad enough to be lying to them, but taking advantage of their good nature like this? It was despicable. He was despicable. But he wanted what they were offering so badly. It was Christmas, or it had been, and he had been good all year long. And a single happy Christmas sounded like the perfect present.

After signing himself out, Phil maneuvered his way to the elevators. The crutches made him feel like an injured gazelle, but they certainly did help limit his pain. And since he had absolutely no intention of filling Streiten’s prescription for Vicodin that was a very good thing. 

He’d made it as far as the sidewalk, when someone burst out of the revolving doors, calling his name. 

“Coulson!” Skye called, panting as she ran up to him, “You are awful quick for someone on crutches.” She smiled and held a plastic bag out to him, clearly wanting him to take it. 

“I just missed you in the hospital wing, but I did run into your nurse. She said that you’d forgotten the extra bandages for your stitches and your fiancé’s personal effects,” Skye gave Phil a ridiculously exaggerated wink at that, “So I offered to bring them down to you.” 

“Oh, thanks,” Phil said, looking down at the non-descript shopping bag Skye handed to him and wondering how on earth he was going to manage it, his own bag, and the crutches. 

Luckily when he put his hand up a taxi immediately pulled up to the curb. This must be his lucky day. Normally he could never find a cab when he needed one. 

“Hey!” Skye said, looking at the taxi. “Your nurse said a friend was picking you up. Unless this taxi driver is your friend, I think we have a problem.”

“Really?” Phil said, “This is the problem and not my ‘fiancé’?”

“Uh, yeah,” Skye said, “Who will help you if you fall over? Are you planning to carry both of those bags while using your crutches? These are important problems, Phil.” 

Phil closed his eyes and reminded himself that it was actually very nice for someone to care if he could potentially fall over.

“Give me your phone,” Skye said, holding her hand out. 

Phil thought about asking why, but decided he was probably better off not knowing and simply handed over the requested device. 

“Ok, so I’ve programmed my number in. It’s under my alias, Daisy. If you fall over you are required to call me immediately. Questions?”

“Nope, I’ve got it,” Phil said, taking his phone back and opening to the taxi door. 

Skye grabbed his bags and crutches, helping Phil get them into the cab, before making sure Phil, himself, was successfully levered inside. 

“See you later, Petunia,” Skye said, grabbing Phil’s shoulders in a fierce hug. She pulled back, “Petunia’s aren’t your flower, are they? I just thought since I used Daisy … but obviously not. I’ll keep working on it,” Skye said, slamming the taxi door closed and patting the roof. She waved as the taxi took off and Phil let himself rest back into the seat. 

The taxi driver helped Phil up to the front door (having apparently been bribed by Skye at some point during the process of loading Phil into the taxi). Standing alone in front of his building, it dawned on Phil that he was going to have to climb two sets of stairs. He half-heartedly contemplated sitting down and waiting to freeze to death and then he contemplated calling Skye, but felt too guilty to bother (after all, he hadn’t fallen down (yet)). 

In the end, Phil shuffled and thumped his way up to the 3rd landing in a show of pure pig-headed determination and stubbornness.

“Only one more to go,” Phil muttered to himself, “You’ve faced down men with grenade launchers, these stairs are a cake walk.”

“You say somethin’ to me, sweetcheeks?” A nasal voice asked from the landing below.

“No, Eddie, no I did not,” Phil said, closing his eyes in resignation. He refused to even turn around and acknowledge the handsy bastard. He had way too much on his plate to even think about dealing with his landlord’s son. 

“Phil, what happened? You get yourself mugged?” Eddie said, as he loudly climbed up the stairs behind Phil. “Next time you need to go anywhere, you tell me, ya hear. And Eddie’ll get you there safe as a bug. Nobody says I don’t take care o’ my things.”

“First of all, I can take care of myself and second, I am not one of your things,” Phil muttered, pure annoyance driving him up the last few stairs to his door. 

“You need me to come in and, you know, help with stuff?” Eddie asked, leering as Phil wrangled the door open. 

Turning around, Phil smiled tightly at Eddie. “I have absolutely no need of help,” Phil informed him. Then he slammed the door in his face. Throwing the deadbolt, Phil sank to the floor in his small hallway. At least Eddie hadn’t had time to feel up his ass.

By the time Phil found himself awkwardly standing in the giant lobby of Avenger’s Tower, he’d had ample time to review all the many and varied reasons this was a horrible, no good, very bad idea. Not the least of which being that it was proving extremely challenging to use crutches and carry a poinsettia at the same time. The only reason he’d even gotten this far, was due to Stark’s driver helping him through the door. 

Looking up at the giant atrium made Phil feel rather small and insignificant; he was on the point of leaving the poinsettia on the floor and finding a taxi, when the door opened, sending a cold gust of wind swirling around him. 

“Well if it isn’t Phil Coulson,” Fury said from behind him, his voice almost amused. “You look like you could use a hand.”

“You know, I was just thinking that maybe going to dinner isn’t a good idea and I should go back home,” Phil told him, resolutely keeping a hold of the poinsettia as Fury attempted to liberate it from his grasp. 

“Nonsense, this is a great idea.” Fury sounded positively friendly, which actually made him more frightening in Phil’s opinion. 

With a final yank, Fury managed to acquire sole control of the plant and began to shepherd Phil toward the giant elevator bank. Phil was quite sure that it shouldn’t be possible to shepherd someone who was using crutches, but Fury was definitely managing it just fine.

“I glanced over your personnel file today,” Fury informed him, as they waited for the elevator. “I noticed that you don’t have any next of kin listed. I was curious why that was.” Fury didn’t phrase it as a question, but he clearly expected Phil to answer.

Taking a deep breath, Phil uttered the all too familiar lines, “I don’t have any family, sir. My mother died when I was two and my father passed away a year and a half ago. So there are no next of kin to list.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Coulson.” Fury said; he even sounded like he maybe meant it. “If I may ask, was your father’s death the reason you left the Army to join SHIELD?”

“You could say that,” Phil said, gamely launching into a topic he usually preferred to avoid, “When my father found out he was sick my work in the Army didn’t give me the flexibility to stay stateside with him, so I had to leave. Jobs were scarce on the ground for vets, but SHIELD was willing to hire me for my security clearance. I am very grateful for that … and the dependent healthcare benefits. Dying isn’t cheap outside the Army. So I suppose I should say thank you.” 

“Not necessary, Coulson.”

“It might be,” Phil told him as they got into the elevator, “SHIELD is all I have.” Damn it. He definitely should not have said that.

“Well, you also have Steve don’t you?” 

Phil froze. Right, Steve, his ‘fiancé.’ Shit. 

“Director,” Phil said, realizing that he really could not do this, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Apparently reading his mind, Fury pulled the emergency stop and the car ground to a halt. He then pulled a small device from his coat and applied it to the elevator panel. As it activated, Phil recognized it as one of the next-gen surveillance disrupters that SHIELD had recently begun making (he’d filled out at least 15 requisitions for them already). 

“Are you going to tell me that you aren’t actually engaged to Captain Rogers? Because I already know that.”

Phil was fairly certain that if he had any bit of sense he’d be gaping at Fury in horror. Instead, he was just staring at the poinsettia trying to play his poker face. 

“I feel like I’m expected to ask how you know that, but as the Director of SHIELD, aren’t you supposed to know everything?” Phil said tiredly.

“We directors do aim for omnipotence, but in this case there wasn’t anything too fancy about it,” Fury said, leaning back against the elevator wall, “I heard you talking to Probationary Agent Skye in the hospital last night.” 

He paused for a weighted moment. “Not many good options available to you are there?”

“No, sir. Agent Skye seems to feel that all the options are dangerous and a bit Hulk filled for her tastes. And I, for one, concur with her assessment.” Phil admitted. 

“So do I,” Fury told him, “But I have to admit, that I have some ulterior motives for not wanting your secret revealed. Primarily, that in my capacity as the Director of SHIELD, I am planning to order you to continue to act as Steve Rogers’ fiancé.” 

Phil was sufficiently startled by this reply, that he actually looked up and met Fury’s assessing gaze. As preposterous as it might seem, Phil was willing to bet his vintage Captain America trading card collection that the Director was actually serious. 

“You see, Phil,” Fury said, conversationally, “We’re certain that the attack yesterday was the result of leaked information since the HYDRA operatives clearly knew that Captain America was going to be there. We’ve long suspected the presence of a HYDRA mole in SHIELD, but we’ve never been as close to flushing them out into the open as we are now.”

“Unfortunately,” Fury continued, “the Captain was playing a significant part in our mole hunt, so our plans have to be adjusted. Conveniently, you’ve just put yourself onto HYDRA’s radar in a rather serious way, so I’ve decided that you’ll take over the Captain’s role in our operation.”

When Fury fell silent, Phil felt it was incumbent on him to ask, “And what exactly was his role, Director?”

“He was the bait.” Fury’s mouth curved into a Cheshire cat smile at that little tidbit. “HYDRA may not be as eager to kill you as they were the Captain, but I think we can make you sufficiently irresistible. I’m not asking you to run a true undercover op, of course, there isn’t time to set it up, but we’re close to this motherfucking mole, so I expect it’ll only be a couple more days.”

Fury paused dramatically, “There would, of course, be benefits for you as well. It’s fairly clear your talents are wasted in the copy room and if you prove yourself on an operation like this … well, perhaps some sort of promotion could be arranged.”

“I’m not a spy,” Phil informed him warily, “And I was never very good at undercover ops … or being bait.” 

“Think of it as on-the-job training; lying is a valuable skill to have for your future at SHIELD. And letting people take pot-shots at you is practically a job requirement,” Fury replied. “So what do you say Coulson, yes or no?”

“Can I honestly say no?” Phil asked.

“You could, but I know you’re not going to.”

“Then why even bother asking?”

Fury turned to start the lift again, “The psych department feels that it’s important to at least give the illusion of choice to my subordinates and if it’ll get them to stop harping on me, I figure it can’t hurt.” 

As the elevator jerked back to life he said, “I’ll arrange a briefing for tomorrow, but for now I think that’s enough of all this mole bullshit. I’m ready for dinner and Stark’s having this shindig catered.”

Dinner was delicious and Phil was touched to see they’d even made him a seat card to match all the others. He may or may not have snuck it into his pocket, but either way, he’s definitely not telling. 

All in all, the meal itself was uneventful, except for one awkward question from the singular Ms. Pepper Potts, who Phil felt like he could have been best friends with in an alternate life.

“So how did you and Steve meet, Phil?”

Phil quickly shoved some green beans into his mouth and chewed them very slowly as he raced through ideas. It was possible that he should have planned an answer to that question in advance.

“Work. We met at work.” It was unremarkable and plausible. Phil thought he’d done fairly well.

“I wasn’t aware that Steve participated in any non-Avenger ops,” Bruce commented.

Oh right, normally he would never he have crossed paths with Captain America at work. So maybe he should mark himself down to poorly on the whole lying thing. Fury clearly thought so, if the stink-eye he was giving him was any indication. 

“Oh, I don’t work on ops,” Phil said, not at all sure where this explanation would end, “I’m on the administration side of things, you see. The Cap … that is, Steve came to me with some questions about paperwork related to his ... back-pay. It took forever to sort out, so he brought me some coffee and we got to talking … and as they say, the rest is history.” Fury looked vaguely impressed, so Phil bumped himself back up to fair, although Fury could just have been impressed with the mashed potatoes he’d been sampling. 

“That’s sickeningly cute,” Stark informed him, reaching across the table for the rolls, only to be smacked on the arm by Pepper. 

“Manners, Tony,” she hissed. 

Tony sulked prettily. “Will you pretty please pass the rolls, Phil?”

And thankfully that ended that particular line of questioning. 

After dinner, Phil curled up in a giant armchair as the others set about opening their presents. He was warm and pleasantly full, simply content to bask in the joy of being surrounded by a family, even if it wasn’t one he could keep. 

Most of the presents had been reduced to shredded wrapping paper when Natasha carefully pulled a box out from under the tree.

She turned over the tag, but her smile clearly let anyone watching know that she already knew what it said. 

“To Phil. Love Santa.” She read aloud, fluidly walking on her knees over to Phil’s chair and handing him the festively wrapped gift. Sitting back on her heels, she watched him expectantly. Phil could feel a blush creeping up his neck, even as he tried to keep a grin off his face. They had gotten him a present. If he weren’t a low-down lying dog, it was highly likely he’d be attempting to hug the Black Widow right now. As it was, he didn’t feel he could risk it, given his inevitable betrayal. 

He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had wrapped a gift for him. Maybe some time in high school? His father hadn’t really been the present giving type, much less the wrapping type. 

Slitting the tape, Phil folded back the paper to slide out a shirt box decorated with frolicking reindeer. Carefully pulling the lid off, Phil revealed a beautiful blue sweater. Hesitantly reaching out a finger, Phil found it was soft and fuzzy.

“You … you shouldn’t have,” Phil said, brutally suppressing the urge to tear up, “But thank you. Thank you so much. It’s beautiful.” 

Natasha gracefully rose to her feet, while she and Pepper exchanged smug glances. 

“I’m glad you like it, Phil,” Pepper told him, “Natasha thought it would match your eyes.” 

The Black Widow had noticed the color of his eyes? The world was getting more and more bizarre by the minute. Just look at the past two days: he’s been ‘engaged’ to Captain America, been semi-adopted by the Avengers, asked to help flush out a mole by Director Fury, and now the world’s scariest assassin knows the color of his eyes. 

At some point Phil must have drifted off because he woke to find he face smushed into a very comfy couch cushion. In his last clear memory, he had definitely been sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room. And this was certainly the first time he’d seen the hideously patterned afghan covering him. 

In the dim illumination from the Christmas tree lights, Phil felt relaxed and comfortable. He was loath to journey out into the cold dark night to return to his own lonely apartment. A soft noise drew Phil’s attention to the doorway. Natasha and someone Phil had not yet met stood silhouetted in the bright light streaming in from the hallway. 

Looking at the man, Phil came to the conclusion that it could only be the infamous Clint Barton. He was clad in a standard issue black SHIELD field suit and muddy combat boots, but the signature quiver on his back gave his identity away. He was smiling unguardedly at Natasha, his whole face alight with happiness. He was almost unbearably handsome. 

Phil closed his eyes against the surprising warmth he felt in his chest, but he was unable to resist peeking out through his lashes again mere seconds later. Barton was staring at him, his face blank and shoulders tense. The beautiful smile long gone. Phil got the distinct impression that Barton not only knew he was awake, but also about his little charade. And possibly every single thing Phil had ever done wrong in his entire life. 

Phil resolutely closed his eyes and vowed to keep them shut until he was sure Barton was gone. Then he would get up and make his way home. 

He ended up keeping them closed until daylight and the smell of coffee woke him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My name is Clint,” Barton informed him, “And you’re Phil Coulson, Steve’s mysterious fiancé.”

Phil struggled his way out of the afghan and another fleece blanket that had not been there last time he checked to glance at his watch. It was 7 am. He was fucked. He was in so much shit as it was (what with not showing up for his Sunday shift yesterday) if he missed today too, he’d probably find himself twiddling his thumbs out on the street. And as blasé as Phil tried to be about his job, he really couldn’t be fired, no one else would ever hire him if that happened. 

Quietly cursing, Phil levered himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the couch trying to remember the last place he’d seen either his shoes or crutches (or even better, both). 

Phil had finally spotted his shoes next to the tree, when a low voice drawled from the doorway, “Going somewhere?”

Phil’s heart leapt in his chest, but he managed to keep the surprise off his face as he turned to face none other than Clint Barton. 

“I have to work today, so I need to be getting home,” Phil explained. Barton was looking at him with the same terrifyingly penetrating stare as last night. After a minute his mouth quirked up on the side. 

“My name is Clint,” Barton informed him, “And you’re Phil Coulson, Steve’s mysterious fiancé.” 

“I’m hardly mysterious,” Phil told him quite seriously. He really wasn’t. 

“Natasha told me that you work in the copy-pool. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you have to work, I didn’t even think they let you guys leave the building.” Barton walked over to Phil’s shoes and picked them up with careless grace, before tossing them to land directly at Phil’s side. 

“Bit of a thankless job, I imagine,” Barton commented, leaning back against the couches’ opposite arm. 

“You could say that,” Phil agreed, slowly sitting back down to begin the painstaking process of shoeing himself. Phil let out a quiet groan, as he lent over to reach his feet, the muscles in his right leg pulling uncomfortably tight. 

In the blink of an eye, Barton appeared in front of him, kneeling at his feet. 

“Let me,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. 

“That won’t be necessary, I can manage on my own,” Phil told him, but Barton was already unlacing the shoe, clearly planning to ignore him.

“I’m sure you could,” Barton agreed amiably, “But only consider how many times I owe your fiancé my life. This is a much easier way to repay him than jumping in front of bullets or throwing myself through inter-dimensional portals.”

Barton shot a look up at him that was a blatant challenge. Daring Phil to admit the engagement was a sham.

“Steve is lucky to have a friend like you watching his back in the field,” Phil said, going for a starry-eyed lovesick look. He wasn’t sure he managed it, but Barton’s eyes narrowed, so hopefully he’d at least confused him. 

Barton gently finished putting his shoes on, face a mask of concentration. “That’ll do you,” he said, rising to his feet and clapping his hands. “How’re you getting yourself home?”

“I am going to call a taxi,” Phil said, following Barton up to his feet, albeit much more slowly. Turning toward the entryway, Phil took a tentative step. Having successfully achieved that, Phil let go of the couch, intent on mounting a search for his missing crutches. 

His next step, however, did not go as well and he wobbled dangerously. Before he could make a complete fool of himself, Barton’s strong calloused hands grabbed his elbows from behind. 

“Why don’t you let me see you home,” Barton said, tightening his grip and leaning forward, so his breath ruffled the fine hairs on the back of Phil’s neck. Resisting the impulse to shiver, Phil shook his head. 

“I just need to find my crutches and I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Barton said, clearly amused. “So if I let go of you right now …?”

“I don’t need you,” Phil snapped, momentarily losing control of his emotions. He felt like he was burning alive, heat flowing from Barton’s hands through his entire body. It was possible he was even sweating. 

Bruce broke the charged moment, wandering into the room holding Phil’s crutches. 

He smiled sleepily at Phil and Barton. “Jarvis said you needed these,” He explained, passing them to Phil. Right, the AI butler, Phil should have thought of asking him where they were in the first place.

“Thank you, Bruce. I appreciate the help,” Phil said honestly, “Now if you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to go find a taxi.”

Phil made it home and hurriedly changed his bandage, inspecting the deep purple and yellow bruise around the stitches, perhaps he ought to do something about that, but he didn’t really have time. He was already going to be late, so Phil haphazardly pulled on one of his remaining un-bloodied suits and deeply regretted that he didn’t have slip on shoes (or that Barton wasn’t here to tie his shoes for him). Then Phil snail paced it outside and caught a taxi, arriving at work a mere half-an-hour late to find his desk piled high with haphazard stacks of reports, requisitions, and memos. 

“Good lord, Phil,” Melinda said, peering over the low wall separating their cubicles, “When I heard you missed work, I figured something bad must have happened, but I was guessing the flu. What the hell did you do?” May leaned closer and whispered, “Do I need to dust off my moves and kick someone’s ass?”

Settling his crutches against the side of his desk, Phil sank down into his chair. “I got mugged,” Phil said, knowing Melinda wouldn’t believe him, but that she would be good enough to let it go.

Melinda raised her eyebrows. “That sucks,” she said, turning back to her own pile of documents, “But at least you didn’t hurt your arm.” 

“As Mr. Coulson has not injured his arm, I think it’s time for him to get to work. And you too Ms. May,” their supervisor, Waters, called across the room from her office. 

Melinda rolled her eyes at Phil, but dutifully picked up her next set of forms. And Phil allowed himself a brief moment of relief at the fact he wasn’t fired before doing the same. 

An hour or so later, Melinda got up to lean in the entrance of Phil’s cubicle. Phil glanced over to see her waving her coffee mug in an exaggerated fashion. 

“Is it time for coffee already?” Phil asked, sarcastically. Standing to grab his mug and crutches. 

“Hey, you’re the one who always says that you aren’t allowed to work on this floor if you’re blood isn’t 90% coffee,” Melinda joked, leading the way toward the break room. 

After the allotted 10 minutes, they made their way back to their cubes, only to find that Phil’s cubicle was swarming with no less than 5 SHIELD junior agents. They appeared to be boxing up his effects. Maybe his relief about not being fired had been a tad pre-mature. 

Waters popped up at his elbow, looking torn between amusement and devastation.

“Says here,” she said, waving form 59-B (official transfer paperwork), “That you’re being re-assigned to a liaison position.” She shook her head, “I am well aware that you’re wasting your life away down here, Mr. Coulson, but you could have at least given me a little notice you were leaving. I’m going to have to hire at least 3 more copiers to take your place!” 

Phil looked at the form in surprise. “This is the first I’ve heard about it,” Phil told her, “I think there’s been some sort of mistake.” 

“There hasn’t been a mistake, Mr. Coulson,” Fury said from behind them, causing Waters to jump. Phil’s eye twitched, he had a feeling that he was well on his way to developing a permanent tic. Melinda, of course, didn’t move so much as a muscle.

“We make a point of acknowledging employees who display initiative and resourcefulness. In this case, we are acknowledging your bravery with a promotion. Although, I suppose some might consider it to be a punishment, but I have faith that you’ll last longer than the last five Avengers liaisons.”

Phil’s hand twitched along with his eye, crushing the paperwork he was holding. 

“Mugging, my ass,” Melinda hissed under her breath.

“Avengers liaison,” Phil repeated carefully. 

“Avengers liaison,” Fury agreed, clapping him on the shoulder. “And you start immediately, so lets get you settled into your new office.”

Phil soon found that not only did he now have an office, but he was also going to be assigned a personal assistant. An idea Phil was vehemently against, as he did not want to be responsible for the care and feeding of a personal assistant. Hell, he would have enough on his hands with that half dead fern in the corner.

“If this is a joke, I think you may be taking it a little too far, Director,” Phil informed him, after shutting the door to his office behind the bevy of junior agents. 

“This is hardly a joke, Liaison Coulson. As we discussed last night, we need you to attract the attention of SHIELD’s resident mole in order to successfully take the Captain’s place in our operation. AD Hill and I have decided that being the Avengers’ liaison, in combination with your perceived personal relationship to Captain Rogers, should make you sufficiently important to warrant a hit from HYDRA’s rabidly anti-Captain America arm. Especially considering that the Captain is too well guarded at the moment for them to continue attempting to assassinate him.”

Phil sat down in his new chair, to give his leg a break. It was nice, really nice, definitely ergonomic. Phil might have to consider stealing this chair and keeping it forever. 

“Now that you and AD Hill are satisfied that I’m delicious and tasty bait, what do you want me to do?” Phil asked, steepling his fingers and staring at Fury over them. He felt kind of like a movie villain; he could get used to this. 

Fury narrowed his eye at him, but he responded nonetheless, “The Captain had been systematically working his way through possible moles, so you’ll continue where he left off. It’s a very basic concept: we provide a subset of our suspect pool with specific information that would facilitate an assassination attempt and then we see what HYDRA does in response. After the attack on Christmas, our pool of suspects has been narrowed down to a handful of possibles.”

“Your role will be fairly basic. Either AD Hill or myself will provide you with a story and you will then help create opportunities for potential HYDRA moles to display their true colors. After we’ve put the story into play, you make it convincing, by acting out the storyline while we wait for HYDRA to attack you. We will, of course, have fail-safes in place to prevent HYDRA from actually killing you, so you’ll be in minimal danger. Any questions?”

“I think we have very different definitions of minimal, sir,” Phil muttered sarcastically.

Fury ignored him entirely, “Our plan is to set a new test into motion tomorrow, so I suggest you take the opportunity to go home early today and get some rest. You’ll want to be in top form for all the fun AD Hill is planning.” 

“Oh certainly, I have always found that being well rested makes it far harder for snipers to hit me,” Phil said agreeably.

Fury snorted, “I’ll have R&D make some body armor for you.”

“Giving me presents, Director? I’m going to start thinking that you like me.”

Fury smirked. “And we wouldn’t want that,” he said, turning back just before reaching the door, “For the sake of your cover, we’ll have to bring Probationary Agent Skye into the loop. As you’ve become fast friends and co-conspirators, I’ve decided you can read her in on the op.” 

With that, Fury opened the door to reveal a small cluster of agents presumably waiting for him. 

At that point, Fury very deliberately looked back over his shoulder, eye dancing with amusement and said, “Oh, and Phil, try not to worry so much about your fiancé, the Captain will be fine. Steve wouldn’t want you fretting yourself to pieces over him, so fucking take care of yourself, alright?” 

Phil brutally pushed away the flush threatening his ears and attempted to imitate a pathetic puppy by widening his eyes and drooping his shoulders. 

“It just kills me seeing him hurt,” Phil replied, voice wilting dramatically as he trailed off. 

Fury winked for only Phil to see and then solemnly said, “Well, I’m afraid it’s Directors orders, so go on home and get some rest. You can go make doe eyes at your Captain tomorrow.” With that Fury turned and stalked through the milling agents, parting them like the red sea. Phil was pretty impressed and promised himself that one day he’d learn how to do that. 

Watching the small crowd scatter, Phil wished there were someone else here, so he could bet that the entirety of SHIELD would know he was engaged to the Captain in less than two hours. 

It turned out to be two and a half, but to be fair Phil couldn’t have been expected to know that the blizzard currently racking Siberia would temporarily knock out Agent Blake’s com line.

Arriving home in time for lunch was a very novel experience. In fact, getting back to his apartment before it was dark out was pretty rare. After eating a couple spoonful’s of peanut butter and apple sauce (the only food left in his kitchen that wasn’t highly suspect), Phil dug through the hall closet in search of the cane his father had used as it became more and more difficult for him to walk. A walker and a wheelchair had swiftly followed the cane, but Phil was fairly certain he’d stored the cane and hadn’t donated it with the vast majority of his father’s affects to Goodwill. 

After digging past the detritus of reusable shopping bags and shoes, Phil emerged victorious with the simple cane clutched in his hand. Testing it out, Phil used it to pull himself up from the floor. It went surprisingly well and Phil took a few experimental steps before unambiguously declaring the cane far and away better than the unwieldy crutches. Hobbling back over to the closet Phil used the cane to shove the items he’d strewn over the floor back to the depths from whence they had come. 

He paused however when he recognized the last item. It was the bag from the hospital, Captain America’s bag. Phil bent over carefully to pick it up. He knew that if he were a good sort of person, he wouldn’t open it and he would be able to return it to the Captain when he awoke. But they had given him the bag and all of SHIELD thought they were engaged, so maybe he wouldn’t be such a bad person for taking a quick look. 

Phil brought it over to the couch and poured its contents out on the coffee table. It was mostly normal things: pens, pencils, a small notepad filled with sketches (not that Phil peeked, of course), keys, a cell phone, and a can of cat food. 

Wait a second ... a can of cat food? Phil picked it up and ascertained that it was indeed a fancy feast intended for a cat. In a moment of sheer horror Phil pictured a tiny gray kitten wasting away in the Captain’s apartment. Hastily, Phil shook the image out of his head. Surely someone would have fed the cat. Jarvis could have asked someone to or maybe it was a tower cat and all of the Avengers took care of it. But Phil hadn’t even spotted a single cat hair on his visit to the tower… 

Phil gingerly set the can back on the table and conducted a futile staring contest with the cat pictured on the label. By the time he’d lost, he was grabbing the cat food and the Captain’s keys and heading for the door. 

Getting into Avenger’s tower was surprisingly easy. Jarvis was more than willing to grant Phil access to Steve’s floor, apparently Master Stark had instructed him to treat Phil as he would any other member of the team. For a self-absorbed billionaire, who spent his time flying around in a metal death trap, Stark was surprisingly thoughtful. Never mind the fact Phil wasn’t actually Steve’s fiancé; but if Steve ever did get a fiancé, no doubt they would be very touched by Stark’s heartwarming gesture of trust. Phil allowed himself one moment of gentle warmth in his chest before he crushed it by realizing he was a horrible betraying person.

Using the surprisingly old-fashioned keys (for a building as modern as this, anyway), Phil let himself through Steve’s door. Walking in, Phil paused in awe; he was standing in Captain America’s apartment. This was surreal. The short entry hallway led out into a beautifully appointed room, with a wall of windows and hardwood flooring. 

Hobbling over to examine the view, Phil glanced at the artwork on the walls. It was clearly all the genuine article, no reproductions for Captain America. One print in particular drew Phil’s attention. It was a World War II propaganda poster featuring the Howling Commandos. Phil had never seen the design before and felt a burning desire to snap a picture, which he quelled. 

This was rare and no doubt deeply personal for the Captain. And if Phil was going to pretend to be the man’s fiancé, the least he could do was pretend to be a considerate one. Because if there’s one thing you should be able to say about Phil Coulson, it’s that he does not fuck around when it comes to being a fake fiancée. Giving the bright colors and bold lines one more glance, Phil turned and headed towards the kitchen. 

Leaning his cane against the counter, Phil searched around for the can opener, finally locating it the drawer with the wine corkscrew. Phil found a small plate and turned the open can upside down on it, shaking out the food. He examined the resulting lump critically. It did not look particularly appetizing, but he supposed if Steve bought it, his cat must eat it. 

Looking around the kitchen no cat was readily visible. Phil had rather hoped that simply opening the can would attract the cat. Apparently this cat was a bit more high maintenance than that. Wearily grabbing his cane, Phil made his way back into the living room area. 

“Here kitty, kitty.” Phil felt ridiculous.

“Come on out and eat. This … chicken? It looks really tasty.” He was making a fool out of himself. Not that anyone was here to witness it … Phil paused, and realized with a jolt that there was something that didn’t feel quite right. Concentrating, he felt the familiar itch between his shoulder blades, letting him know someone was indeed watching him. 

Turning in a slow circle Phil looked for movement, seeing nothing. In the end, Phil felt more than heard the displacement of air behind him, far too big to be the cat he was looking for. Not giving himself the leisure to contemplate how on earth a burglar would have gotten into Captain America’s apartment. Phil shifted his grip on the cane and jabbed it backwards with force, simultaneously transferring his weight onto his good leg. 

Feeling his cane connect, Phil dropped the plate of cat food and swung around sending the cane viciously whistling through the air. Luckily for everyone involved, Barton managed to absorb most of the impact from the cane with a deflecting forearm. Combined with Phil’s attempt to pull the blow once he realized whom he was attacking, this left everyone more or less uninjured. 

There was a moment of extremely awkward silence as Phil tried to slow his heart rate and Barton sheepishly rubbed at his shin. 

“What are you doing here?” They chorused at the same time. 

“I live in this tower, so when I hear someone where no one should be, it’s my business to investigate.” Barton snapped at him, crossing his arms. The implication that Phil not only had no right to be in this apartment, but that he had no right to be Steve’s fiancé at all. 

“So I think you should tell me what you’re doing here,” Barton said, every line of his body a challenge and a threat as he touched the line of a knife strapped under his shirt.

“This is my fiancé’s apartment,” Phil told him, trying to seem offended and self-assured, “I have far more right to be here than you. As for what I’m doing, quite obviously I’m feeding the cat.” 

Barton’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Wrong answer Coulson, Steve doesn’t have a cat.” 

That momentarily stumped Phil. Steve had to have a cat or else he was carrying around cat food for no discernable reason and that didn’t seem like him. Not that Phil actually knew him, but from what Phil had read anyways he didn’t seem like the sort to carry unneeded pet food. 

“While I’m sure you know far more about the matter than me,” Phil replied voice scathing and sarcastic, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but he’s definitely got a cat. Definitely.” Wow, Phil was going nowhere fast with this answer. Something about Barton made his normally formidable emotional suppression and quick thinking a tad tenuous. 

Barton was clearly on the verge of either gutting him or calling the Black Widow to do it for him, when a low meow sounded from the direction of the coffee table. There, sitting right next to the plate of food Phil had dropped was the tiniest fluffiest cat he’d ever seen. 

Dropping down shakily onto his good knee, Phil stretched out a hand toward her. 

“Hello there, dearest,” he crooned, coaxing her close enough to scoop up. He gave her tiny head a gentle stroke. Realizing abruptly that he really shouldn’t be acting like a complete moron in front of Agent Barton, relying heavily on the cane Phil struggled back to his feet, cat in hand. 

Barton looked like someone had slapped him in the face with a wet fish. He was staring at the cat like it had done something to personally offend him. 

“Do you not like cats?” Phil asked, turning slightly to protect his little bundle from Barton’s evil glare. 

“No, no, I like cats. I just hadn’t realized …” Barton trailed off, “I’m glad you thought to come feed it. I mean, her or him or ….”

Barton looked so pathetic at that point Phil would probably have willingly moved mountains just to make him crack a smile. So Phil decided to go easy on him. Or he decided he would go easy on him after he figured out a name and sex for the cat. 

This is why people should put collars on their pets, for goodness sake. In the end Phil just went with his gut instinct. It should also be noted that Phil was not very good at naming things (exhibit one, his goldfish … Frisky). 

“Fluffums, her name is Fluffums,” Phil informed Barton, presenting him with a small section of the cat to pet. Barton reverently ran a calloused finger along her spine. She arched up into his ministrations and purred violently. Phil kind of wished he were in her place.

“She likes you,” Phil said, rather stupidly. He was smiling, which he really shouldn’t be. But something about being around small cute animals made it hard for him to remain stoic and maybe also something about Barton. 

The smile Barton gave him in return made Phil lose his entire train of thought. It was that same happy unguarded smile that had so captivated Phil from his vantage point on the sofa last night. Up close it was even more amazing. Phil could literally feel his heart stuttering in his chest as breathing became inexplicably difficult. 

“Well,” Phil said after a moment, clearing his throat, “I suppose I should thank you for coming to check on Steve’s apartment, even though it turned out to be unnecessary. We wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to our little angel,” Phil set a struggling Fluffums down and she took the opportunity to get fur all over his pants before heading back toward the smashed plate of food. 

“I should make sure she doesn’t hurt herself on any glass,” Phil said, more to himself than anything, reaching for the kitten again to stop her from eating the suspect food. 

“I’ll do it. It’s my fault, after all,” Clint said, hurriedly stepping around Phil to scrape up the plate and food.

“Be careful, you might cut yourself,” Phil admonished, feeling like a mother hen for a brief second. 

“I think I can handle it,” Clint told him sarcastically, “Trust me, this isn’t even close to the most dangerous thing I’ve done today.”

“I don’t think I even want to know,” Phil muttered to himself, as Clint walked off toward the kitchen.

After a couple minutes, Phil began to wonder if he should go check on the wayward archer, but he was reluctant to venture out from the comfy coze he and Fluffums had established on the couch. Surely a superhero could manage walking to the kitchen without backup.

“Hey, Coulson,” Clint said, finally emerging from the kitchen, “I couldn’t find any more cat food, so I just dug up some tuna from my place.”

Never mind explaining how Clint had somehow gotten back to his own place when the only door was directly in front of Phil!

But what Clint said made sense, why else would Steve have been carrying the can with him if he’d had food at home. 

“Yeah, sorry, I should have said we’re out of food. I brought that can with me,” Phil told him, still half-contemplating Clint’s magical disappearing act. 

Clint hummed in agreement and set the tuna plate on the table. Phil offered Fluffums to him and Clint took her like she was a time bomb with a faulty trigger. 

“She isn’t going to break,” Phil told him, as Clint appeared frozen in place. 

“Right, right, of course,” Clint agreed quickly, setting the cat down gently on the table and wiping his hands on his pants, clearly trying to cover for his nervous actions.

“Have you never held a cat before?” Phil asked, genuinely curious.

Barton smirked, appearing to regain his equilibrium. “Do tigers count?”

“I imagine tigers are a little harder to pick up, although I’m sure you’re more than up to the task. How did you end up meeting a tiger?”

“Circus,” Barton replied briefly. 

Phil nodded. “How could I have forgotten, you were the world’s greatest marksman,” Phil said, smiling a little at the memory of all the news stories showcasing Barton’s old purple costume.

Barton pouted exaggeratedly, “I still am the world’s greatest marksman.”

“I suppose,” Phil agreed amicably, “But I must say there’s a rather disappointing lack of purple in your new outfit.”

Barton rolled his eyes, “Yeah, cause the purple wasn’t too distinctive at all.”

Fluffums interrupted the exchange by giving an imperative meow as she jumped down from the table to wind between Barton and Phil’s ankles. 

“Looks like she’s done,” Phil said, reaching a finger out in her direction for her to sniff and possibly approve of. 

“Since it’s so out of your way to feed her,” Barton said, “I went ahead and told Jarvis to order me some of that cat food you had. I’ll take care of her until Steve gets better.”

Phil wasn’t sure if Barton’s offer was inspired by desire to spend time with the cat or to take away any possible excuse Phil could have to visit the tower. No, it was definitely to keep Phil away from the tower. The man clearly didn’t trust a word Phil was saying, but Phil was beginning to wonder if that had less to do with him in particular and more to do with Barton’s nature in general. 

Given what little Phil knew about the man’s history, it wouldn’t be surprising if he were the type of person who was slow to trust. His inability to tolerate your presence if he didn’t trust you wasn’t exactly expected, but Phil couldn’t blame him. Trusting people was a sure way to open yourself up for heartache. And Barton was far from wrong in this case.

“Thank you, Agent Barton,” Phil said slowly. Deciding that perhaps less time in the tower would be for the best, Phil nodded. “I would really appreciate it if you would do that for us. And Fluffums really seems to like you, so I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Clint look surprised for a second, before hiding it behind a suspicious gaze. “You should call me Clint,” he all but growled, seeming upset about the informality, “Now that we’ve settled that, why don’t you let me see you home.”

“That really isn’t necessary Agent …” Phil caught himself, “… Clint, I’m more than capable of catching a taxi by myself, as I proved only this morning,” Phil said, levering himself off the couch and grabbing his cane. “But you’re quite right, we’re practically family. You should call me Phil when we’re not on duty.”

“Well, as family Phil, I’m going to take you home. It will make me feel better.”

“Do you really think I wouldn’t leave?” Phil asked, calling Barton out on his game.

Barton smirked, “Actually, I’m more interested in seeing where you live.”

Phil sighed. That actually made a lot of sense; Barton was a spy he would obviously want to do recon. He would probably question all of Phil’s neighbors and set up sightlines in case he ever wanted to off Phil in his sleep. 

“In that case Agent Barton, I would be honored if you’d escort me home. I’d even be more than happy to point out some optimal perches for your eventual sniping of me,” Phil snarked, heading towards the door.

Clint laughed from behind him. “You are so on Coulson, I’d love to see what sightlines you’d pick out for me.” 

Phil shook his head. That man was decidedly odd.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell us something about Steve that only you would know and Clint will cease his ridiculous questions.”

After Clint had dropped Phil off at home, Phil spent a solid two hours lying on the couch watching Millionaire Matchmaker and eating questionably aged ice cream while not picking up his phone to call Skye and brief her on the situation.

It didn’t make him feel any better about his ‘undercover’ work, but at least it was a pleasant distraction. 

Unable to procrastinate any longer, Phil selected ‘Daisy’ from his contacts and listened as the phone rang. 

“Daisy Johnson,” a chipper voice answered. It sounded like Skye. It probably was Skye, Phil reminded himself. 

“I’m trying to reach Agent Skye,” Phil said. 

“Oh man, you’re killing me, Coulson,” Skye/Daisy groaned, “The whole point of the Daisy alias is that you’re supposed to use it over the phone.” 

“That makes very little sense to me,” Phil told her, “But I think I may need to be on painkillers too much to appreciate subtleties at the moment.” 

“Wait, does that mean you did or did not fill your Vicodin script?” Skye asked, and Phil could hear the sounds of pans banging in the background. 

“No, I’ve just been taking Tylenol,” Phil said, “I think that’s the problem.” 

“So what you’re saying,” Skye said, “Is that you’re in a lot of pain, but only taking over the counter pain killers because you’re a stubborn idiot. And that is making you think less clearly than normal.” 

“I mean, I suppose you could put it like that,” Phil mumbled. 

“Do I need to fill the Vicodin for you?” Skye asked with a sigh.

“No!” Phil snapped, “I’m fine, really. I just need to go to bed. It’s been a long day. I got a promotion, that’s what I was calling to talk to you about.” 

“That’s great, Phil! Congratulations. What have you been promoted to? Senior copier? Is that a thing?” 

“That isn’t a thing,” Phil told her, “Fury made me the Avengers Liaison.”

There was silence from the other end of the phone line. 

“Skye? Are you still there?”

“No way! No fucking way! That is amazing, LC. Damn, I can’t believe I know the Avengers Liaison. This is going to be epic. Also, LC, that’s pretty good, right? Has a ring to it.” 

“Skye,” Phil said, reprovingly, “This is obviously not going to be a permanent position, as I am lying through my teeth to the Avengers. Well, and Fury implied that he just gave me the job so that HYDRA will try to assassinate me, not because I’m actually qualified for it.”

“Ok. I think we need to back up like 50 steps or so here. And start with the assassination thing, because that seems like a problem,” Skye said, sounding worried. 

“Look, you can’t tell anyone,” Phil told her, “Fury gave me permission to read you in, but it’s a secret.”

“I’m great at secrets,” Skye said, “My lips are totally sealed. Now tell me everything.” 

“Apparently there’s a HYDRA mole in SHIELD and the Captain was trying to uncover the mole’s identity. Now that the Captain’s in the hospital, Fury wants HYDRA to target me, so that he can keep looking for the mole.”

“But the main point here,” Phil said emphatically, “Is that Fury actually ordered me to keep lying to the Avengers about the engagement. He thinks that if I’m the Avengers Liaison and engaged to the Captain, HYDRA will definitely want to kill me. So we need to be careful, because we can’t mess up and tell anyone the truth about how I’m not actually engaged to the Captain.” 

“Damn,” Skye said, “That is some heavy stuff. If you need any help or anything, you can totally count on me. You’ve got my number, so don’t hesitate to call.” 

“Thanks, Skye,” Phil said, feeling pathetically grateful for the offer, even if he’d never take her up on it. 

“Alright. I’m going to let you go, so you can get to sleep, but I’m going to come visit you in your swanky new office tomorrow and if your leg still hurts too much, I’m totally filling that Vicodin script, are we clear LC?” 

“Really, you’re sticking with LC?” Phil said. 

“Until something better comes along, definitely!” Skye said, “Also you didn’t answer my question. But that was a good try.” 

“I really think sleep will help, “Phil told her, “But if it doesn’t, I’ll think about the Vicodin.” 

“Good enough. And don’t forget to change your bandage. See you tomorrow, Phil.” 

Phil stayed on the couch working up the energy to stand for another 15 minutes until someone started knocking incessantly on his door. Phil could hear Eddie’s voice through the flimsy wood and knew he wouldn’t stop until Phil actually got up and answered. So gritting his teeth, Phil levered himself up and hobbled over to the door with his cane.

Apparently, Eddie wanted to hear about Phil’s fiancé, since a nice man in a leather jacket had told him all about the engagement. Phil mentally cursed Barton as he managed to redirect Eddie’s inquiries by suggesting he ask out the guy living in the one-bedroom on the fifth floor. Maybe that would buy him a brief respite. Maybe. 

Phil got an early start the next day and with his leg feeling much better after a good night’s sleep, he decided to stop by the hospital on the way to work. It wouldn’t do to seem like he wasn’t being an attentive fiancé. He hadn’t even visited Steve once yesterday. Although, the SHIELD grapevine would be attributing that to Fury’s orders, so it shouldn’t be too damaging to his cover. 

Making his way to Steve’s room, Phil passed a nurse he recognized from his brief stay in the hospital. She waved cheerily at him, and Phil gave a half-hearted nod back, continuing on his way. Getting to the room, Phil took a minute to steel himself and breathe deeply before he opened the door and walked in. 

It’s possible he should have asked the nurse if Steve already had visitors. 

“Greetings, Son of Coul!” Thor boomed, rising from the side of Steve’s bed to walk over and engulf Phil in a spine-cracking hug. Literally, something cracked. It was very loud. Phil was praying it wasn’t anything important. 

“Try not to play too rough, big guy. Phil’s still recovering,” Stark admonished, shaking a playful finger in their direction.

“It wouldn’t hurt to remember he’s mortal and can be crushed, either,” Bruce added. 

Thor looked sheepish for a moment, still feeling a bit guilty about his other adverse affect on Phil’s recovery. “I hope you are not hurt, my friend,” he said, subdued. 

“Don’t worry, Thor. It requires more than a hug to take me down,” Phil assured him.

Thor immediately perked up. “Excellent!” He exclaimed and managed to stop himself before he clapped Phil on the shoulder. Instead he settled on a gentle tap. 

“Well if you two are done making friends, I would like to hear what the doctor has to say about the Captain’s condition,” Stark put in lightly. 

“I’ll go find him,” Bruce said, getting up from the chair by Phil’s old bed. 

“Actually,” Clint interjected, “I think there’s a few important family issues we should talk about first.”

Everyone’s attention turned to the archer, who pushed himself off of the wall to stand defiantly in the middle of the room. 

“I was thinking we could start with the fact Coulson here has been cheating on Steve.”

There was dead silence in the room.

“Cheating? You do not mean that he has broken his pledge to the Captain!” Thor bellowed, his face going an alarming shade of red. 

“Chill, Thor,” Stark said, rolling his eyes, “First of all, no one pledges their troth anymore, so stop saying that. And second, obviously Phil wouldn’t be unfaithful. The man’s a goddamn saint!” 

“Yeah, well maybe you should tell Phil that, because in addition to Steve, he’s got a fucking boyfriend on the side!”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Bruce told him, eyes flashing dangerously green. 

“I wish,” Barton said, scowling menacingly in Phil’s direction, “But I met the guy yesterday. He was quite clear on the matter. Apparently, Steve wasn’t the only one being played, as Phil had also neglected to tell his boyfriend about the engagement.” 

Finally, all of the pieces clicked together in Phil’s mind. Yesterday must mean when Clint dropped him off. And Phil knew Clint had talked to Eddie, which would imply Eddie was the ‘boyfriend’ in question. Phil mentally grimaced. You had to be kidding him. Was that low down lying bastard actually claiming to be his boyfriend? How was this his life? How was something so ridiculous even happening?! 

Phil cleared his throat loudly, silencing the low murmur that had sprung up around the room. 

“I’m going to go ahead and presume, Agent Barton, that you’re referring to meeting my landlord’s son, Eddie, yesterday when you dropped me off. Leaving aside the fact you actually think that I would be interested in dating him, I can tell you with absolute honesty that I would never date that deluded bastard.” Phil paused for a moment, his eyes dancing with barely suppressed anger. Barton had no right to think that about him. 

Phil was a fucking awesome fake fiancé. And awesome fake fiancés did not cheat on their betrothed. Also, Eddie? If Phil dated, which he didn’t, but if he did, he would definitely make it a point to date non-sleaze balls. Phil was way classier than that. And Barton should damn well know that. 

“Oh, and I suppose we should just believe you. Seems mighty convenient to me. Especially seeing as Eddie told me he was your boyfriend before I even introduced myself.”

Phil narrowed his eyes in displeasure. He was going to have to kill Eddie and find somewhere quiet to dispose of the body. Surely his landlord wouldn’t be too upset at losing his lazy freeloading son. 

“While I have no doubt, Barton, that Eddie told you he was my boyfriend, you can rest assured that I prefer not to date men who find it amusing to sexually harass me. And let me just say that the whole ‘lying to people about our supposed relationship’ doesn’t exactly make me want to change my mind.” 

“He sexually harassed you?” Bruce said, voice earnest and concerned, but his eyes still alarmingly green.

Phil suppressed the urge to sigh. Of course, that was the part of his explanation that Bruce would latch onto. “I appreciate your concern Dr. Banner, but I’m perfectly capable of dealing with Eddie’s penchant for groping and leering all on my own.”

“Are you kidding?!” Stark said, “I’ve got access to the best weapons in the world. I say we get this fucker with a drone. Problem solved.”

“I would be willing to remove him,” Natasha said, casually flipping a knife that had appeared between one blink and the next. Phil had absolutely no doubt that she was completely serious. 

“No one needs to kill anyone,” Phil told them calmly, never mind that he’d been contemplating Eddie’s murder mere seconds before.

“Perhaps we should perform an intervention,” Bruce suggested, “Make it clear to this ‘Eddie’ person that any further harassment will be met with legal action.”

“I do have a lot of lawyers,” Stark said, nodding eagerly, “We could totally do that.”

“No, we can’t!” Barton shouted; his hands clenched tightly at his sides, clearly frustrated and angry. “Because Phil isn’t actually engaged to Steve. It doesn’t matter if this Eddie guy isn’t his boyfriend, because there’s no way Steve wouldn’t have told us if he got engaged. So clearly, Coulson is lying to us!”

Clint had a very good point; unfortunately Phil was not at liberty to agree with him. “Well, I’m not sure what you want me to say, Clint,” Phil told him, reasonably, “I am engaged to Steve, but I’m at a loss for how to prove it to you.”

Clint growled low in his throat before biting out, “What’s Steve’s favorite color?”

Blinking at the abrupt shift, Phil scrambled for a response by calling on his near obsessive reading of Captain America interviews. “Yellow.”

Clint frowned and Phil allowed one corner of his mouth to turn up in satisfaction, which caused Clint’s frown to deepen. 

“Favorite food?”

“Apple pie.”

“Favorite movie?”

“He’s refusing to pick a favorite until he catches up with more pop culture.”

Clint opened his mouth, clearly planning to call out Phil’s answer, so Phil plowed on, “But, of course, the only movie he ever wants to watch when he isn’t feeling well is ‘The Wizard of Oz,’ so I think it’s fair to say he’s picked a favorite anyway.” 

“This is ridiculous,” Romanov said, stalking over to Clint and unsubtly knocking his shoulder with hers. She turned toward Phil, “Tell us something about Steve that only you would know and Clint will cease his ridiculous questions.”

Phil paused, something only he would know? Most everything he knew about the Captain came from magazines, comics, and TV shows, so his knowledge base was almost entirely public knowledge. But surely there had to be something obscure that most people wouldn’t know. 

Of course, it would have to be something obscure that only a fiancé would know. Phil’s mind raced through the kind of personal information that would be necessary and came up blank. He needed something that the Captain would tell his fiancé, but not the Avengers. 

Sex. Phil nearly winced at the thought. Engaged people have sex and unless there were secret orgy’s going on at Avenger’s tower, the Captain would not be having sex with the Avengers. And a major component of sex was that it required some degree of nakedness. 

So what Phil really needed to come up with was something that he would only know about if he’d seen the Captain naked. Which he hadn’t and honestly he was starting to think he may not even want to at all. Not that it mattered since it was never going to happen anyway. 

Phil may not have seen the Captain naked, but he did know that thanks to the super serum Captain America’s body was unmarred. There were no scars, no tattoos, no blemishes of any kind. 

Why the fuck couldn’t the Captain have the simple human decency to do Phil a favor by only having one testicle? Or three nipples? Or an appendectomy scar? Or a giant tattoo of a mermaid on his dick? 

Ok, that didn’t come out right, but the point stood. Anything really would do. Phil would even be willing to settle for something that wasn’t even indicative of sex, but no such luck. No birthmarks, no piercings, no ….

Wait a second. Phil’s mind scrolled back to birthmarks. Why was that ringing a bell? Phil almost smiled when it came to him. It had been in the Captain’s file, which Phil had most definitely not abused his security clearance to access (except for how he totally had). He could see the file in his mind’s eye and there it was under identifying marks. “Birthmark, barely visible, left hip.” Phil remembered wondering why the serum hadn’t identified the birthmark as needing to be improved or healed. 

Phil didn’t have anything else and he was reasonably sure that none of the other Avenger’s had the clearance needed to access the un-redacted file, or at least didn’t know that he had the clearance. He could only hope that “barely visible” didn’t mean you needed a microscope because that would not fly with his newly planned ‘we had sex, I saw his left hip’ cover story. 

“His left hip,” Phil blurted out and promptly felt a horribly hot blush work it’s way up his neck and onto his cheeks. Wow, this was going to hell in a hand basket way faster than Phil had even thought possible. He’d only gotten three words into it! 

“What about it?” Clint asked, crossing his arms and taking a very hostile stance. 

“There’s … that is,” Phil paused to take a steadying breath. He could do this. Maybe, if he was lucky, the Avenger’s would write his flustered behavior off as embarrassment over admitting something personal … and not Phil totally lying his ass off.

“A birthmark. He has a birthmark on his left hip. It’s not very distinct, but it’s there. You can look if you don’t believe me.” Awesome, that had gone marginally better, although Phil’s face was still feeling distinctly flushed. Thank god Fury wasn’t there to witness him fucking that up so badly. 

Everyone else in the room was exchanging uncomfortable looks, so Phil took the opportunity to press a cool hand to his cheek. God it was hot in here. Bruce was the one who finally caved to the rising tension.

“Fine, I’m a doctor. I’ll look,” Bruce grumbled, walking over to the bed. Lifting the covers slightly and taking exaggerated care not to uncover too much, Bruce pushed up the Captain’s hospital gown to bare his left hip. 

There wasn’t a birthmark, well fuck. The jig was most definitely up. 

Bruce looked up at Phil and smiled, which was decidedly not what Phil had been expecting (he’d definitely been prepared for a lot more green and angry). Instead Bruce said, “You were right, it is incredibly faint.” 

“I don’t see anything,” Tony scowled from the other side of the bed. Phil didn’t either, but he felt that keeping that to himself would be the better part of valor.

“The skin tone is ever so slightly different, right here,” Bruce said pointing to a small patch of skin over the jut of the Captain’s hipbone. Tony leaned precariously over the bed to get a closer look. Clint walked over as well to stand next to Bruce.

“Oh, I see it! That is faint. Damn, Phil. You must have gotten up close and personal down there to notice that,” Tony said, leering suggestively at Phil. 

If possible the flush was getting worse. While his goal had been, in fact, to convince the Avenger’s he was sleeping with Captain America, the reality of having succeeded was far more embarrassing than he’d thought it would be. He really shouldn’t be so self-conscious, but for some reason the idea the Avenger’s thought he’d had sex with their de facto leader (which he hadn’t, but that wasn’t the point) was messing with his inner balance.

Apparently that was enough confirmation for Romanov, as she turned to Barton to say, “Are you happy now, Clint? You have been given what you wanted at the expense of both Steve and Phil’s privacy.”

“I think you owe Phil an apology,” Bruce interjected rather sharply, tone at odds with his hands gently covering up the Captain’s side.

“Ok, ok,” Clint said, running a shaky hand through his hair as he looked dejectedly between Natasha and Bruce, shame evident in his face. Nodding he blew out an exhausted breath. “I … I’m sorry. I was clearly mistaken.” He looked up at Phil, his eyes smoky with some unnamed emotion. “I hope … I hope that you can forgive me … Phil?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Phil told him, readjusting his cane to provide him more support. Mainly occupied with being grateful that the interrogation had ended, Phil spoke a tad more emotionally that he was usually did. “You’re Steve’s family, Clint, which makes you mine too. And forgiveness is what families do. So I forgive you.”

It was a terribly sappy thing to say. But Phil couldn’t help hoping that everyone would forgive him too when all these lies Phil was stacking up toppled over and brought Phil down with them. 

Clint stared at Phil like he had spontaneously grown a third head for a moment. Then his gaze darted quickly around the room, almost like he was securing it … but surely he would have done that when he arrived. It was when Clint’s gaze landed back on Phil that he realized Clint had actually been scouting escape routes. His eyes were a terrifying combination of anger, loneliness, and guilt. Faced with such overwhelming fear, Phil had no idea what to do. He tentatively reached his free hand out towards Clint, but Barton darted past his arm, slid out the door, jumped onto the nurses’ station, and disappeared into the nearest vent. 

“So that’s why he doesn’t need doors,” Phil whispered, momentarily amazed at the lithe grace that Barton had just so beautifully demonstrated. 

Worry soon settled in over his appreciation of Clint’s impressive disappearing act. “He will be coming back, won’t he?” Phil asked tentatively.

“He will indeed be back, Son of Coul. The Hawk will not abandon us for long!” Thor informed him.

“He sees best from a distance,” Bruce said, taking his glasses off and wearily rubbing his eyes.

“You must understand that he’s still learning to live with the concepts of family and forgiveness, Phil. As a child he saw little enough of either.” Romanov turned toward Phil, her gaze shining with fierce protectiveness for Clint, before continuing, “So we must thank you for your help. He’s one of our family and we try to reinforce that as best we can.” 

Natasha then threw her arms around Phil’s neck, in what had to be both the shortest and most heartfelt hug of Phil’s life. Phil blinked furiously, forbidding himself to tear up. No matter how touching Natasha’s gesture of trust and thanks had been, he was absolutely not going to cry. Absolutely not. Phil dabbed his coat sleeve surreptitiously at his eyes. Absolutely not.

“A lot of us didn’t have a family before this, before the Avenger’s,” Tony said, studiously examining his feet, hands tucked deep in his pockets. “This is the first time we’ve added a new member since our inception, so I’m sure you can understand why that would be a bit stressful.”

Phil swallowed roughly, his heart clenching in sympathy … in empathy for this oft-lost team of heroes. So many of them had been like him, set adrift in the world without the ties of family to hold them together. Phil had held onto his father for as long as possible, but after he died, Phil had faced the realization that they hadn’t been doing much more than being alone together. Neither had reached out beyond their circle of two to create a family. To build one. The Avengers had done that and Phil envied and admired them with every fiber of his being. 

“I … I do understand. I know what it’s like to be alone,” he forced out around the lump in his throat.

Stark looked up, smiling wanly. “Then it’s a good thing you found Steve because you’re not alone now. Especially since your fiancé came with a bonus pack of Avengers, including all the craziness and idiosyncrasies that implies.”

“Family,” Bruce said, quiet voice cutting through the room, “It implies family.”

Phil took a deep steadying breath. This was going to kill him. These wonderful, beautiful, trusting people were going to be the death of him. Because he was lying to them and when they found out the truth it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t rip him limb for limb. Phil still wouldn’t survive. Phil had no doubt that finding himself once again alone, with no one but Frisky to care if he were dead or alive would kill him. 

Following the emotion-filled mess that was his hospital visit, Phil was immensely grateful to be able to retreat into an actual office. With a door that Phil could close, so that he could break down in his ergonomic desk chair without anyone seeing him. It was quite nice really. 

After blowing his nose and doing some deep breathing exercises, Phil set to wading through the reams upon reams of paper that had appeared in his office overnight. Apparently after the last Avenger’s liaison had been forced into early retirement, no one had actually been doing the required paperwork. They’d just been waiting for the new liaison, which seemed like a monumentally bad plan. 

Phil had every intention of changing that policy, so that when he was reassigned back to the copy-pool his successor wouldn’t have to deal with such a ridiculous mess. Of course, Phil was going to have to get through all this paperwork before he could do any such thing, so that goal may have been farfetched. 

Phil was in the process of laboriously moving a box of mission reports to his desk by pushing it with his cane when someone knocked on his door. 

“Come in,” he called, pausing to scowl down at the too heavy box.

“Sir,” a bright voice said from the doorway, “I just thought I should introduce myself. I’m Antoine Triplett, and I’ve been assigned as your personal assistant. So anything you need, just go ahead and buzz me.”

Phil turned to look at the young black man. He was tall and well muscled, dressed more in the style of an off-duty field agent than a desk worker with a t-shirt and jeans. While Triplett’s appearance didn’t scream textbook personal assistant, his eyes gave him away entirely - they were incredibly alert and probing taking in every detail of Phil and the room, too alert for someone who had only ever worked behind a desk. 

Phil felt a tingle of unease settle in his chest, this man had to be a field agent. Phil could only think of one reason why a field agent would be here as a personal assistant, Triplett must be one of the suspected moles.

“Well, Mr. Triplett, at the moment, I could use a hand moving this box over to my desk,” Phil said, deciding to take this new twist in stride. 

“Sure thing, Liaison Coulson. And please, sir, call me Trip, most everyone else does,” Triplett said, snatching the heavy box up like it weighed nothing and showing off a winning smile that could light up it’s own room. “Do you want it on the desk or next to it?”

“Just put it next to the desk for now, I’ll let you know if I need it relocated, again,” Phil told him wearily as he made his way back over to his chair. 

“Ok, sir. Is there anything else you need?”

“Coffee?” Phil really did need some coffee after the morning he’d just had.

“Coming right up, sir. Garrett was all about his coffee too, so I already had some brewing in the break room, just in case,” Triplett said.

“Garrett?” Phil asked, unable to stop himself. 

“Oh, I should have said,” Triplett gave Phil another megawatt smile. “I was working as Senior Agent Garrett’s personal assistant before AD Hill re-assigned me here.”

Phil nodded and Triplett left to fetch the coffee, allowing Phil the privacy to thunk his head down on the desk for one precious second. If his personal assistant wasn’t one of the mole suspects Phil would eat his own necktie. 

By 8 pm Phil had consumed far too much coffee, skipped lunch, received an ominous email rescheduling his meeting with Fury from today until 2pm tomorrow, and finished half a box of paperwork. That only left 3.5 more … 

Phil was tired and his leg hurt, which was making him cranky. What he really wanted was to be at home, but he wasn’t entirely sure he could make it through the process of going home. 

His intercom buzzed and Phil jolted up from where he’d been listing sleepily in his chair. 

“Liaison Coulson, your 8 o’clock appointment is here,” Triplett’s voice sounded tinny through the intercom, but Phil was willing to bet he was still smiling. 

“I don’t have a 8 o’clock appointment,” Phil replied, hitting the talk button. 

Triplett laughed. “Sir, you can try to tell her that, but I’m sure as hell not going to. Also it looks like she brought dinner, so I might reconsider if I were you, it smells pretty good.”

“Oh, it’s Skye,” Phil said, not even realizing he’d spoken out loud until Triplett replied, “You bet your ass it is. I’ll send her in.” 

“Yes, send her in. And for god’s sake, go home. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you have to be,” Phil said, closing the intercom as Skye slid into the room. Her big brown eyes playful as she held two large brown bags up in front of her. 

“Dinner is served and it’s not Cheetos. We’re moving up in the world, right LC?” 

“Thank you, Skye,” Phil said, already feeling his lagging spirits lifting as her energy brought the room to life. 

“Well, a little bird, told me that you were starving yourself in your office, so I decided to take action,” Skye said, unpacking the containers of Chinese food from the bags. 

“Who exactly is the little bird in this case?” Phil asked, catching the broccoli and chicken Skye tossed in his direction.

“I’m afraid your new PA was telling tales out of school,” Skye said, looking very solemn. Then a huge smile broke over her face, “It was hilarious. He came into the break room begging for advice because he was worried you were going to die in here and then the Avengers would kill him. Or Hill, he wasn’t particularly clear on that point. So I decided to do him a favor and make sure you got some sustenance, cause I’m a great friend like that. Also, now he owes me.” 

Phil couldn’t help smiling along with Skye. “I hope my case doesn’t appear so dire. I’m hardly going to keel over from skipping a few meals.”

“I don’t know, LC. You did almost just bleed to death, Trip’s concern may have been justified.” 

“Does everyone know about that? The almost bleeding to death, I mean?” Phil asked. 

Skye rolled her eyes. “Does the sun rise in the East? I think everyone in SHIELD knows that you single handedly stopped a huge HYDRA attack and almost died in the process, that you’re engaged to a genuine superhero, and that you’re the new Avengers Liaison. If SHIELD agents were as good at their jobs as they are at gossiping, we’d get a lot more done.” 

Phil nodded eating some more of the broccoli. He had actually been hungrier than he’d realized. 

“So you’re friends with Mr. Triplett?” Phil asked, trying to sound casual. 

Skye laughed, “You have got to call him Trip, LC. Even Fury calls him that. And, yeah, we’re friends. Trip has been super nice showing me the ropes around here. You know he was a field agent until last year, right?”

“I suspected as much,” Phil said, “But AD Hill neglected to furnish me with his résumé when she assigned him here.” 

“Well, if you ask me, he’s super lucky to be here working for you. He used to work for Garrett, you know, and that guy has always wigged me out. Trip says that you get used to it, but I think he’s crazy. I guess Garrett was his CO when Trip was in the field and he played a big roll in getting SHIELD to keep Trip on as a personal assistant after his accident. So he has to be loyal, but seriously,” Skye said leaning forward, “Garrett has crazy eyes.” 

Phil huffed out a small laugh. “You are not wrong there, Skye. He really does.” And if SHIELD had been ready to abandon Triplett that could be reason enough for him to turncoat over to HYDRA. 

Eating some more of his dinner, Phil stifled a yawn, but not well enough that Skye didn’t catch him. 

“Seriously, Phil, I think you need to go home, get some sleep.” 

“I honestly don’t think I can make it home,” Phil told her, feeling horribly exposed in his weakness. 

“I would offer to take you home, but I’m not technically allowed to leave SHIELD premises after 9 pm until I get past my probationary status,” Skye said, looking very serious. “But I have an idea, there’s a free set of quarters next to mine. You can sleep there!”

Phil almost said no. He kept thinking about how four days ago he would have worked through the night or slept on his desk, but he had to accept that right now that would be a bad idea. So instead he nodded and let Skye usher him out of his office, past Trip who was eating sweet and sour chicken at his desk, and over to the residential wing. 

After Skye picked the lock to the room next to hers, Phil almost baulked, but the bed looked too tempting. So instead he bid Skye good night, stripped off his suit, and collapsed on the bed. Only wishing that he’d remembered to take some more Tylenol as sleep pulled him down into its deep embrace. 

When a sharp pain in his leg woke him up an hour later Phil rolled over to find someone had a left a large bottle of Tylenol on the bedside table with a glass of water, a fresh bandage, and a little sticky note covered in a smiley face. Phil couldn’t stop the warm happy feeling spreading in his chest. What would it be like to have people helping you out and caring about your well being all the time? Phil couldn’t even imagine, but it must be pretty fantastic.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your first Avengers outing,” Trip said with a smile, “I’m sure it’ll be exciting.”

After a questionable mess hall breakfast with Skye, Phil headed back to his office and the 3.5 boxes of paperwork waiting for him. After sitting down, Phil stared at the boxes for a minute and strongly contemplated setting the lot on fire and then pretending they had never existed. Surely no one would miss them. 

Phil wished he had something else to do, but since his meeting with Fury wasn’t until after lunch, he really only had paperwork to focus on. On the upside, at least he didn’t need to make out three different copies of each form. Still, it wasn’t exactly scintillating work. Although, the Avenger’s various takes on their missions did provide a commendable variety. 

The Captain’s reports were surprisingly boring, cut and dry to the point of tedium, so Phil found himself hurrying through them, barely bothering to skim them before moving on to the next one. 

Stark’s reports were more or less written like elaborate diary entries that sometimes strayed completely off topic to discuss his latest designs, who would win in a fight: Captain America or Batman, whether or not he could hire the firm that had succeeded in rebranding avocados for his StarkPad launch, etc. While amusing, they were hardly informative. 

Bruce had a hard time remembering what had happened while he was the Hulk, so his reports were also less than helpful. 

Thor’s reports were a little hard to follow since he spent most of them comparing the battle the Avengers had just fought to other battles. More specifically other battles that had definitely not taken place on Earth, or Midgard, or whatever, so Phil had no idea how any of them had gone down. 

The Black Widow had apparently decided to redact all information she felt was sensitive from her reports … so that was pretty much everything. Only occasional words were visible amidst the blacked out masses. Phil wasn’t even entirely sure she was writing anything under the surplus of permanent marker, but he wasn’t really inclined to call her out on it. Somehow he doubted that anyone was. 

The reports he found himself lingering on were by Hawkeye. The man had a keen eye for what was happening on the ground and very vivid ways of describing it in his reports. He also kept up a hilarious running commentary on how much he disliked most of the Avengers’ handlers. Smiling into his coffee, at Clint’s annotation that the score was now, “Clint 7, Garrett 0, Sitwell 1, Hand 2, Gonzalez 2,” when it came to picking good perches, Phil leaned back into his chair. He was starting to get an idea of why liaisons were turning over so quickly; the Avengers were clearly a handful even when they weren’t in the room.

Taking a deep breath, Phil closed his eyes and for a moment strongly considering applying more Tylenol to the dull ache in his leg. 

Then three different phones started ringing at once. Seeing as Phil only had one phone, the other two were rather surprising. First, Phil pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. It read “Assemble.” Ok then. 

Phil waded through his desk drawers until he found the second phone. It read, “ASSEMBLE!” Phil rolled his eyes and set it on his desk. It looked like he’d been added to some sort of Avengers mass-text list. 

The third phone was still ringing angrily, so Phil levered himself up and located it inside the third box, under several layers of requisitions for ammunition. It read, “Be on the roof in 10.” So that message clearly wasn’t meant for him. Someone must have dropped their phone … in this box of useless paper? Phil narrowed his eyes at the screen before tossing it over to land on his desk. 

Standing up, Phil moved toward the door to ask Trip if he knew what was going on, but paused when the door swung open and a harried Trip walked in. He had a phone pressed to each ear while he flipped through a file and held a heavy-duty tactical vest.

“I’ve got it, sir. Ten minutes. Yes, sir. He’ll be there.” Trip dropped one of the phones to the floor and began unzipping the vest. 

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, but I’m looking at the requisition form and it clearly states that Liaison Coulson is supposed to be issued a handgun and a tactical vest. I’ve got the vest, but I do not see the gun; so if I were you, I would find a handgun and get it to Liaison Coulson before the chopper takes off. Because it’s going to be Fury coming for your ass if the Liaison has to go out in the field without a weapon.”

Trip dropped the second phone and looked up at Phil, smiling broadly. 

“Your first Avengers outing,” He said with a smile, “I’m sure it’ll be exciting.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “While I’m sure it will be very exciting, I’m not going anywhere.”

Trip looked momentarily thrown, but recovered quickly. “But the Director said you were supposed to be on the roof in 10 minutes.” 

So that third phone had been for him then. “Given that I am still recovering from a bullet wound, I’m sure the Director will understand,” Phil said, slowly maneuvering himself and his cane around Trip and out the door. 

In the face of Trip’s slightly panicked eyes, Phil felt he didn’t have much choice in the matter, so he took the proffered vest with the intention of discarding it later. Phil stepped out into the hallway and headed toward the nearest break room. If everyone was called out because of this emergency then that would mean he could have the entire coffee pot to himself. Now that was a perk. 

Turning the corner he was very nearly run over by Skye.

“Oh, thank god I found you! You’re going to be late. Let’s get a move on, LC,” she said, grabbing his free arm.

“I won’t be late because I’m not going,” Phil told her firmly.

“Of course, you aren’t,” Skye agreed, already towing Phil along, with Trip trailing behind them, “But you see Hill told me that the chopper can’t take off until you get there. And the Avengers’ need the support staff it’s transporting, so unless you want the Avengers to be understaffed in the field, you’re going to have to at least pretend to get on the chopper.” 

Phil may have been willing to go along with Skye and make sure the helicopter took off, but he still had no intention of being on said bird. Then they ran into AD Hill. 

She tossed a gun at him, which he caught deftly before eyeing it with dislike. He did not need a gun. He was absolutely not going to be leaving headquarters. 

“Better get a move on, Coulson. As liaison you’re expected to mediate the disagreements between the Avengers and their handler. And as Garrett is on the rotation this time you’ll have your job cut out for you. Just try not to let him get any of the Avengers killed.” With that Hill jogged off down the hallway, clearly heading for central mission command. 

“Wait a second,” Phil said, momentarily thrown. “What did she mean, don’t let him ‘get any of the Avengers killed’?”

“Oh come on, LC. Everyone knows Garrett is a righteous asshole when his temper flares and that can cloud his judgment. And lets just say that the Avengers have made pissing him off into an art form, so someone with a level head needs to be there. And as liaison both Garrett and the Avengers will listen to you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Phil asked, eyes widening imperceptibly. “Garrett hates me and I think the Avengers would prefer not to see me until Clint has had a chance to calm down.”

“Garrett, really isn’t that bad,” Trip said, helping Skye wrestle Phil into the tactical vest, “He does have a temper, but I’ve never seen it actually endanger anyone in the field. Although, I have to say the Avenger’s have been walking on his last nerve lately. And I did think he was going to wring Hawkeye’s neck after their last mission. So maybe Hill is right and you should be there.” 

They emerged from the elevator onto the roof and Phil paused to blink into the sunshine as the brisk air penetrated his suit. Looking at both Skye and Trip, he holstered the gun in his tactical vest. 

“If this is going to become a habit, I’m going to need a vest that actually fits,” Phil said. 

“Yes, sir,” Trip snapped with a smile, “I’ll make sure to get on that while you’re gone.”

“I’ll see you later, LC. Remember that you’re the Avenger’s back-up this time, so no need for self-sacrificing heroics today,” Skye shouted as the whump-whump of the chopper blades drowned out all other noises. 

Phil found himself crammed into a helicopter with a mixture of medics, scientists, and agents. Heaving a sigh that was hidden under the whistle of wind, Phil tried to re-settle his ill-fitting vest. This was going to suck. 

Half-an-hour later Phil revised ‘suck’ to ‘royally and completely blow.’ He was ensconced in a tiny dark trailer listening to Garrett yell at the Avengers. Any time he tried to touch anything (or listen to what the Avengers were saying) Garrett would find some way to smack his hands away and tell him to, “Let the professionals do their work,” or at least, something to that effect, but generally in less pleasant terms. 

He also seemed to be getting more violent with each of Phil’s so-called “offenses.” Phil inconspicuously massaged his knuckles. They were smarting from where Garrett had rather viciously banged them with a binder when Phil tried to turn on the audio feeds in the van. It was beyond frustrating to only hear Garrett’s side of the conversation. 

“I said NO!” Garrett shouted, drawing Phil’s gaze from where he’d been watching the CCTV of the giant robots stomping on abandoned taxicabs. 

“You listen to me, Hawkeye. If you attempt to leave your perch I will have you drawn up on charges of insubordination. SHIELD will throw your sorry ass back into the gutter they found it in. Now I’m ordering you to keep radio silence on the general com line, Hawkeye.”

Phil clenched his fists. How dare that fucker say something like that to Clint! Clint had clearly worked long and hard to prove himself to both SHIELD and the world in general, who was Garrett to disparage him? Keeping his expression calm, Phil carefully regulated his breathing. He would not get into a fight with Garrett while trapped in a shoebox-sized trailer. It would be most unprofessional and Phil was going to be the most professional liaison anyone had ever seen. That’s right he was. 

Garrett was violently punching buttons, so Phil turned his attention back to the CCTV trying to rein his temper in. The taxis were now so much yellow debris. One of the robots had been taken out by what appeared to be an arrow to an access port located on its neck. 

Seeing that Garrett was absorbed in giving orders and flipping through data readouts, Phil surreptitiously adjusted the camera to point toward the building Clint was stationed on top of. There was a giant robot lying about 30 meters inside of the lobby. It looked like Thor’s work, as the robot was still shooting out occasional sparks. 

A rumble shook the trailer as another robot landed down the street next to the Hulk. But Phil’s attention was torn away from that particular monitor to watch in horror, as the building Clint was stationed on swayed far more than could possibly be normal or safe. Phil’s eyes darted to the robot lying in the lobby, taking in the way it spanned nearly the entire building. Who knew how many supports it could have taken out. It hit Phil like baseball bat between the eyes – 

Holy fuck. That building was going to come down. It wasn’t a matter of if. It was a matter of when. It was a miracle the thing was still standing.

Shit. Phil looked at Garrett. He didn’t appear to have noticed. But maybe he had?

Garrett suddenly gave a sharp un-amused laugh in the dim light. “You’re not so clever are you, Hawkeye?” He sneered. “Given your history of insubordination I removed you from the group com loop after ordering radio silence. I will not have you disrupting this mission with your prima donna antics. I do not give a fuck if you don’t like your perch, you will stay there until I say otherwise. And if you’re a good archer and keep your goddamn mouth shut, I may even send Iron Man to come pick you up when we finish.”

Phil’s eyes widened in horror. This was not good. If Clint couldn’t ask his fellow Avenger’s for help, his only option was Garrett. And Garrett definitely did not seem to be inclined to listen.

Clearing his throat gently, Phil raised a finger in question. “As the Avenger’s Liaison, I think we should ask why Hawkeye wants to leave his perch.”

Phil was rather pleased with that. It wasn’t too confrontational, but it should also get the job done. Even someone as prone to temper tantrums as Garrett wouldn’t leave a guy on a building that was clearly going to collapse at any moment.

Garrett jerked the earpiece out of his ear and swung around to face Phil. “What did you just say to me?” He snarled, the veins in his neck pulsing ominously. In any other situation Phil would have kept his mouth shut, but Clint’s life was in danger. This was no time to be timid. 

“I said, ‘why does Hawkeye want to leave his perch?’” Phil reiterated, keeping his voice level and oh so calm. 

Garrett jumped up from his chair and in one quick stride was standing in front of Phil. Rather confused by what Garrett was doing, Phil didn’t put up a protest as Garrett grabbed the collar of his tac vest and yanked Phil none to gently out of his chair.

“So now you’re trying to tell me how to do my job when only last week I had you down on your knees cleaning the floor for me. Let me be clear Coulson, one more word out of your mouth and I’ll send you back to the copy pool eating out of a straw,” Garrett growled, his face uncomfortably close. The bulging veins were definitely scarier from here and when he spoke little bits of spittle were flying. Phil suppressed a shudder of revulsion. Yeah, Garrett definitely hated him.

“The structural integrity of Hawkeye’s perch has been compromised,” is what Phil tried to say. He got to ‘perch,’ before Garrett dropped the grip on Phil’s vest to grab Phil around the neck. Needless to say, the rest of his sentence did not come out in a particularly intelligible fashion. This was not good. Phil was having trouble breathing as he clutched ineffectually at Garrett’s arm with his hands and he had no idea where his cane was. Apparently Phil had made Garrett angrier than he’d realized. 

A lot angrier. 

“I think it’s time someone taught you some fucking manners, you pencil pushing bastard,” Garrett said, giving Phil a highly unnecessary and painful shake.

Phil thought that was maybe a tad overzealous and definitely beyond the bounds of appropriate workplace interaction. Also, he was still finding it hard to breathe. 

So lashing out with his right arm, Phil hit Garrett’s elbow, breaking the vise like grip on his neck. Then Phil swung his left fist directly into Garrett’s jaw. To Phil’s immense surprise (and definite satisfaction) Garrett dropped like a rag doll. To be truthful Phil hadn’t even been trying to knock him out, just get him to back off for a bit so he could breathe. It was kind of embarrassing really that a senior agent had a glass jaw like that. 

However, there was a far more pressing issue - Phil had just cold-cocked the Avenger’s primary handler for this mission. FUCK. 

Scrambling over Garrett’s prone form on hands and knees, Phil hauled himself up to the console and pulled up the Avenger’s locations and com lines. Tapping into the main line, Phil grabbed the discarded headset, trying to bring his panicked breathing under control.

“Iron Man!” He called, perhaps a tad too loudly if the atrocious feedback was any indication. This was not a good start. But that didn’t matter he had to do this.  
“Iron Man, Hawkeye needs an evac NOW. The building he’s on is coming down.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony snarled, as the voices of the other Avenger’s chimed in with their own choice curse words. Phil watched with relief as Stark shot off the ground, abandoning the two robots he’d been fighting to Thor, whose lightning was one of the few effective weapons against the ridiculous machines. 

Flipping through com channels, Phil managed to find Hawkeye’s by pure chance. Clint was cursing loud and clear at Garrett while keeping up a running commentary on his plan to attempt shooting a grappling hook to the nearest building. It was a shitty plan. Mainly because the nearest building was on the very edge of the grappling hook’s range. There was a high likelihood it simply wouldn’t make it. Seriously, who had picked out such a shitty perch with so few escape options? Oh right, Garrett. Stupid question.

“Negative,” Phil all but shouted, finding the button to switch his mike to Hawkeye’s channel. 

“Coulson?” Hawkeye sounded suspicious.

“Stay where you are, Hawkeye, Iron Man is on his way.”

“I’m not sure I’ve got that much time, this building isn’t going to be standing for much longer.”

“Listen to me, Hawkeye. Iron Man will be there. He’s 30 seconds out at most. And your grappling hook doesn’t have the range you’d need to reach any of the other buildings.” Phil told him, desperately flicking through screens, checking on Iron Man’s progress. He was being slowed by fire from one of the robots fighting the Hulk. Shit. 

“He’s not going to make it, Phil. But it’s ok, we got the building evacuated, so it should just be me,” Clint told him, his voice serious and sad. Phil took a deep breath. A glance at the monitor displaying the building corroborated Clint’s evaluation of the situation. The building was listing further and further to the side.

“I don’t give a damn if the building’s empty, I’m focused on you right now,” Phil snapped. “Get to the North side of the building, Clint, I’ll get you back on the ground, I promise.” Phil frantically flipped back to the Avenger’s main channel; clamping down on the desire to let the situation devolve into hysteria. He did not make promises he didn’t intend to keep. He was going to find a way to get Clint down or die trying.

“Iron Man, Hawkeye is on the North side of the building, I repeat, North side… and for god’s sake hurry.” Phil added the last part almost without realizing it, as he watched the building Clint was standing on give a final ominous shudder and begin to collapse in grotesque slow motion. 

Without realizing it, Phil flipped back to Clint’s channel. 

“Phil, I don’t know if you can hear me, but thanks. Thanks for trying.”

“Jump,” Phil found himself saying.

“What?” Clint shouted; his voice nearly drowned out by the building crumpling around him.

“Jump!” There was still a chance, still a chance Iron Man could get there. He just needed a few more seconds. 

Phil’s heart stopped as he watched Clint’s tiny form appear over the top of the building and hang for one agonizing second before he began to fall in tandem with the building itself. That crazy beautiful man had decided he trusted Phil enough to jump off a building at his say so. Oh god, this was not the time for a panic attack.

Phil flipped back to the Avenger’s com, equations racing through his head in a  
swirling cacophony, trying to out-calculate the force of gravity and come up with a solution where Clint made it safely down to Earth. 

Phil shook the numbers out of head, yelling into the com, “He’s jumped. Look for him on the way down, Stark!”

Frozen in place, Phil watched Clint’s form grow larger and larger as it neared the ground. It was the longest 10 seconds of his life. Phil nearly keeled over in relief as Iron Man zoomed in and snatched Clint’s falling form, pulling him up and away from the debris raining around them. There had been time, Clint was alive.

“Thank God,” Phil whispered, forgetting the open com.

“I’ve got him. He looks ok, but I can’t hear him for some reason, is his com malfunctioning? Jarvis, look into it!”

“No need, Stark,” Phil said, fingers shaking in gratitude as he tried to figure out how exactly Meyers had cut Clint off from the rest of his team, “It’s a problem on my end. I’m trying to fix it.”

There was a loud laugh over the line, as Thor took down his final opponent. Phil glanced through the rest of the screens quickly. That only robot left would be history soon enough, as the Black Widow was steering it toward the Hulk.

“I don’t see anymore of the robots landing, we might be in the clear,” Phil told them, figuring that he probably had the most comprehensive view of the situation.

Finally seeing the code Garrett had altered, Phil undid it as quickly as his quaking fingers would allow. Upon his success, the shared com line was flooded with Clint’s very welcome voice. 

“And I think that fucker was trying to get me killed. Charge me with insubordination my ass, I’m charging that son of a bitch with attempted murder. Let’s see who Fury decides to keep then!”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Hawkeye,” Phil told him, voice almost giddy as the adrenaline abruptly flowed out of his system. Hissing, Phil collapsed into Garrett’s abandoned chair; his leg was going to hurt like a bitch now. He shouldn’t have been standing without his cane, but he honestly hadn’t noticed until just now. Adrenaline was a magical and evil substance. 

“Hey Hawkface, why are you angry at Phil? He’s the one who told me to go get you in the first place,” Iron Man put in.

“Phil? I’m not talking about Phil. I’m talking about that ass-hat Garrett. He cut off my goddamn com when I told him I was going to ask you for a lift off that death trap of a building.”

“Luckily Liaison Coulson was there,” the Black Widow added, her breath coming slightly faster than normal as she dove into an alleyway to avoid the Hulk smashing the last robot with glee.

“You saved my life, Phil … Thank you” Clint’s voice was quiet, almost timid.

“Anytime, Hawkeye,” Phil said, smiling to himself in the glow of the screens, his heart flaring with the joy of being thanked by someone who clearly doled out such praise in small aliquots. 

“While I am most pleased to hear your voice Son of Coul, where is Senior Agent Garrett?” Thor boomed over the line, causing Phil to cringe. That was really loud. He quickly dialed down the volume.

“He’s here in the command trailer,” Phil told him, not really sure what else to say.

“And he’s letting you talk to us?” Stark’s voice said, disbelief echoing palpably down the line.

“Well, technically, I’m presuming I have his permission to use these com lines,” Phil said drily, reaching out his good leg to give Garrett a not so gentle nudge, “As Agent Garrett is currently unconscious he is unable to disabuse me of this notion, so I suggest you simply go with it.”

“You dog! You knocked him out!” Clint crowed down the line.

Phil smirked. “I didn’t say that.” 

Phil was not smirking a few hours later as he sat rigidly in Fury’s office. Fury wasn’t saying anything, he was simply sitting there calm as you please reading what appeared to be a property damage reimbursement form. And Phil should know, he’d copied enough of them in his time at SHIELD.

“Do I want to know why you felt it necessary to render Agent Garrett unconscious?” Fury finally asked, glaring at him in mild annoyance. 

“I doubt it, sir,” Phil told him, quite honestly. 

Fury eyed him suspiciously, before leaning back in his chair to steeple his fingers. 

“So you’re not going to tell me that not only did Garrett make a decision that would, in all likelihood, have gotten Agent Barton killed, but he also felt it necessary to strangle you, presumably when you pointed said fact out to him.”

Phil self-consciously reached up to touch the fingerprints purpling on his throat. They didn’t look pretty, but honestly it could have been much worse. 

“No, I wasn’t planning on telling you that, sir,” Phil agreed as amicably as possible. What he really wanted was for the whole situation to never have happened, but obviously that wasn’t going to be possible unless he discovered time travel in the next few minutes. 

Fury shook his head, “Well if that’s the way you want it, Coulson, Hill and I will deal with Garrett without your input. You’re dismissed Liaison. We’ll postpone our mole-hunting until tomorrow.” 

Phil nodded and stood with the aid of his cane, his everything kind of hurt at the moment.

As he reached the door, Fury said, “Oh, and Phil, that was a pretty damn amazing left-hook.”

Phil allowed himself a small smile. “Thank you, sir.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil met Clint’s eyes and realized that he was in very big trouble. It was highly possible he had a huge crush on the archer. Fuck.

Following his escape from Fury, Phil stopped by his own office and contemplated filling out the paperwork for today’s debacle. After a few moments torn between his duty and personal preference, he ended up siding with going home. It seemed his dedication to his job had been slipping precipitously since Christmas.

“Trip,” Phil said, stepping back out of his office, “I’m going to go ahead and cut out for the day.” 

“Great plan, sir!” Trip said, jumping to his feet, “Taking care of yourself should be a definite priority.” 

Phil narrowed his eyes at Trip.

“Well, that’s what Skye said and I always listen to scary and attractive ladies.”

Phil nodded. “If she stops by tell her that I not only left at a reasonable hour, but I am also planning to eat dinner. I’m sure she’ll be very impressed with my progress.”

Trip laughed. “You got it, LC.”

“Don’t tell me she’s got you in on this nickname business too,” Phil said, letting tones of mock dismay fill his voice. 

Shaking his head sadly, Trip said, “I’m afraid she did read me in on it, sir. I’ll try to keep it locked down.”

Phil allowed himself a small grin. “Let’s just try to keep it discreet. I’ll see you tomorrow, Trip.”

After splurging on a taxi home, Phil used his best Ranger stealth skills to sneak past his landlord’s apartment without attracting Eddie’s attention. Phil should probably kill him, but the past two days had put him through the emotional ringer and he was hardly in the mindset that would be required for such an endeavor. 

Phil changed out of his work clothes and took the opportunity to examine his bullet wound, which was aching a bit, as if to remind him that it was still very much there. The bruise around the bullet hole was still a deep purple, and it even seemed to be getting bigger. Although, Phil really couldn’t be sure, he might have only been imagining it growing. 

Grabbing a permanent marker from his desk Phil outlined the edges of the bruise before settling a new bandage over the stitches. He made a mental note to check back later even though he doubted it was serious, but still better to know. Especially if he was going to keep putting it through events like the ones he experienced today. Phil was now 100% sure he knew why the last five Avenger’s Liaisons had quit and he wished them Godspeed because damn this job could suck. 

After feeding Frisky and once again realizing that he had no food, Phil flicked on the Christmas tree lights and sat down heavily on his couch with a jar of peanut butter. Slouching down, Phil leaned his head back against the cushions and contemplated the twinkling lights and mishmash of ornaments. Letting his eyes dip closed, Phil was faced with images of Clint’s broken body on the ground. What if’s swirled through his brain in lurid color … what if Phil hadn’t been fast enough, what if he hadn’t fought off Garrett, what if he hadn’t realized, what if he hadn’t been there at all.

None of those things had happened, though. Phil had managed through some combination of luck and intuition to save his archer from a meaningless death. 

No, not ‘his.’ But that didn’t matter because Hawkeye was alive to shoot another day and Clint was still here to keep learning what family means. But most importantly of all, in a few more days, Phil would have no more part of that. It would be almost like he’d never been there at all. 

Mind racing, Phil still managed to doze off in the soothing multicolored light, clutching his jar of peanut butter. He was abruptly jerked awake by a knock on the door. Shaking his head to clear away the haze of sleep, Phil got to his feet and set down the jar, before limping over to look through the peephole. It was Clint. He had a small cut next to his eyebrow, but it had been cleaned and it only made the puppy eyes he was making even more pathetic. 

Leaning his head against the door, Phil tried to talk himself into pretending he wasn’t home, but he couldn’t do it. His time with the Avengers was going to be short enough; he didn’t have wherewithal to deny a minute of it. 

Moving through the locks, Phil swung the door open to see that Barton’s puppy eyes were even deadlier without a door between them. It felt like his heart was clenching in his chest, consuming itself by the desire to wipe that look off of Clint’s handsome face.

“Uh, hey,” Clint said, looking down at his feet and shuffling them sheepishly.

Phil breathed a sigh of relief at the break from the puppy eyes; they were clearly not good for his health.

“Hello, Clint,” Phil said softly, “Is there something I can do for you?”

Clint looked up quickly and then his eyes shot back down before Phil could glimpse anything more than nervous energy. 

“Yeah. Yeah … look, you saved my life today,” Barton started.

“That’s my job,” Phil told him gently.

Barton shrugged. “Let me rephrase, you knocked out a senior agent to save my life today.”

“I concede knocking Garrett out was not my job, but I can honestly tell you I’ve been wanting to do that since I met the guy two years ago,” Phil told him, trying to play the words off with a small smile.

“I saw the video. I saw what he did to you,” Clint blurted out, “And the way you took him down, those were good, efficient moves. And I … I saw … you called Stark first. You knew I was in trouble before you even talked to me,” Clint’s eyes lifted from the floor to linger on the livid bruises coloring Phil’s neck before lifting to meet Phil’s gaze. 

Clint’s eyes were brimming with confusion and deeply buried fear, but he pressed on in spite of that. “You cared enough to watch my back, even when no one would have faulted you for letting it slide. I don’t have many people who would do that for me. So, I just need to tell you how sorry I am about yesterday morning. And I want to do something, anything to make it up to you.”

“Clint …”

“You were right,” Clint plowed on, “We’re family and I forgot that yesterday, but not anymore, not ever again, I’m going to be there to help you.”

Phil took a shaky breath. Clint’s heartbreakingly beautiful eyes, were reaching right into his soul and Phil wanted to promise him everything. He wanted to promise that he’d always be there to catch him, that he’d be his family, that he would watch his back forever. But those would all be lies, and Phil couldn’t bring himself to utter them. 

Instead Phil took a leaf from Clint’s book and looked fixedly at his feet.

“Anyways, that’s what I wanted to say. And Pepper told me I should ask if you needed any help with things cause of your leg. She said it’d be a nice way for me to make it up to you. So if there’s anything, I’d … well, I’d really like to help.” Clint’s voice was so very earnest, Phil knew that he wasn’t going to be able to resist taking him up on his offer.

“Look, Clint. You don’t owe me anything, so I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, I’m not obligated. Weren’t you listening? I just want to help. So please, let me!” 

Phil met Clint’s eyes and realized that he was in very big trouble. It was highly possible he had a huge crush on the archer. Fuck.

Momentarily thrown by this sudden insight, Phil struggled to come up with an appropriate response. He ended up all but blurting out the first thing that came to mind. 

“I’ve been living off peanut butter. I have no food in the house and I could really use some help grocery shopping.”

Clint laughed, tilted his head back and smiled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll take you grocery shopping. But just so you know, I’ve been banned from shopping for the Avengers, so you might be getting in over your head.”

Phil allowed the corner of his mouth to turn up in response to Clint’s happy face, “Apparently my job description includes the ability to wrangle unruly assets, so I certainly hope I can handle a little shopping.”

Things went smoothly from there. Clint waited while Phil put on his shoes and coat then held tight to his arm, helping him down the stairs. Phil was feeling a little flushed from that, but the crisp outside air covered for the color in his cheeks.

Clint offered to drive, but they ended up walking to the little corner market and Phil felt ridiculously pleased when Clint offered up tidbits about archery and his on-going prank war with Agent Sitwell, which Phil could hoard away to remember for when this was all over. 

Clint insisted on carrying all the shopping bags, since Phil’s leg was giving him a bit of trouble, in spite of his recent dose of Tylenol. It was definitely aggravated from all the standing Phil had done in the trailer, but Phil really didn’t want to admit that. Clint was obviously feeling guilty enough about the whole incident, if the not-so-surreptitious looks he kept shooting the faint fingerprints on Phil’s throat were any indication. 

Turning up the less used sidewalk to his place, Phil had a moment to realize that the ground felt a little slippery, before his cane and feet went flying. Surprisingly he didn’t end up on his ass, but wrapped up in Clint’s arms. There were shopping bags haphazardly scattered around them and few still looped around Clint’s arms, but Phil was undeniably secure. 

“Well, fuck,” Phil said, trying to draw his legs back under him with little success. 

Clint chuckled, and Phil could feel it rumbling up his spine. This was not good. 

“Don’t worry, princess, I’m not going to let you fall,” Clint assured him, his hands sliding up Phil’s chest to get a better grip, which he used to haul him more or less into a standing position. Given the flagrant purr of pleasure from his nervous system, Phil was quite pleased with himself when he was able to remain standing after Clint slowly eased back from him.

He watched as Clint bent over to pick up the discarded bags and struggled not to groan at the sight of his ass on blatant display. This should not be happening to him, he was a middle-aged pencil pusher, who literally had no life. He should not be attracted to a young beautiful Avenger, who was in all likelihood completely straight. Especially not while pretending to be engaged to his teammate. And yet somehow this was all happening; Phil was torn between the desire to cry and laugh. 

Clint ventured back over the ice to Phil and carefully took hold of the hand unoccupied with the cane.

“Just hold on to me, fair maiden,” he said, smiling gently, “I think we should be able to make it across the vast icy wastes.”

Phil rolled his eyes, more for show than anything else. “Well obviously you’re my knight in shining armor.” Ok, that came out a bit cheesier than he’d intended. Like quite a bit. 

Clint just laughed and they made their way to Phil’s doorstep without any other major incidents. A few times Phil felt unsteady on his feet, but the thought would barely cross his mind, before Clint’s hand was tightening on his, pulling Phil closer to his side. 

Settling down in his kitchen to stare at the shopping bags Clint had so kindly brought in, Phil felt a pang of regret. He really should have pretended to slip at least once more. After all, how many more chances would he have to feel those amazing arms wrapped so perfectly around him? Phil let his head sink forward to rest on the kitchen table. 

He was a moron - he didn’t just have a crush like he’d thought earlier. Oh no, it was worse. Far worse. 

He was fucking falling in love with Clint Barton. 

After a restless nights sleep filled with dreams of a certain archer and his rather fantastic ass, Phil woke to a deep ache in his leg. Phil took his Tylenol with coffee and once again paid for a taxi to work. He would really have to stop doing that; it was an exorbitant expense that he really couldn’t afford in the long run. 

Following a brief visit with the Captain, Phil spent over an hour occupying himself with filling out paperwork and asking Trip to bring him even more coffee. Which, of course, was when Skye stuck her head through his door. 

Looking up from his form where he was trying to find a tactful way of saying ‘and then I knocked that motherfucker out’ without sounding insubordinate, Phil quirked an eyebrow at her. 

“AD Hill asked me to ask you to please come to Conference Room 3B,” she told him, wiggling her eyebrows in return. 

“When?” Phil asked, already half suspecting the answer.

Skye pushed the door fully open, shrugging expressively. “You know, now-ish. Or maybe, like, 10 minutes ago. I had to stop in the bathroom on the way over here to avoid Agent Garrett. He’s pissed that Fury and Hill put him on suspension for that shit he pulled yesterday with Hawkeye. Ol’Crazy Eyes looks like he wants to kill someone and I am not volunteering. ”

Phil sighed quietly. “Was he bothering you? If he was I’ll find some way of dealing with it, so just let me know.” 

Skye rolled her eyes. “I pulled the evasive maneuvers, so he wouldn’t bother me. Besides, I kind of have my own built in protection method,” Skye made an odd gesture with her palms that Phil didn’t understand. 

“Oh?” Phil said, trying not to sound too curious.

“Wait?” Skye said, dropping into the chair across from Phil’s desk. “You don’t know about my powers?”

Phil blinked in surprise, “I can safely say I do not know if you have superpowers, but I have never doubted that you are a very powerful young woman.” 

Skye laughed. “You are so nice and classy, Phil Coulson, this is why we need to hang out and watch movies or something. But, yeah, I have ‘super’ powers, I can make earthquakes. Vibrations and all that,” Skye said, wiggling her fingers. “My powers are classed as Inhuman.” 

“Now that I’ve heard of,” Phil told her, he had copied into triplicate far too many forms involving Inhumans and their many interactions with SHIELD.

“But the point is, you can trust me when I say no one is going to dare give me a problem. And if they do, well, I’ll just fire a warning shot.” Skye smirked and crossed her arms, “Garrett wouldn’t even stay on his feet long enough for you to knock him out again.” 

Phil groaned quietly, “Does everyone know about that?”

Skye looked at him in patent disbelief. “Duh.”

Phil shook his head. “Well there’s nothing to be done about that. And since I’m already late for AD Hill, I suppose we’d better get a move on.”

Skye jumped up and Phil used his cane to lever himself out of his chair in a much slower fashion. Together they walked out of the door into Trip’s domain.

“I’m going to a meeting, Trip. So hold down the fort until I get back,” Phil said.

“You got it, sir,” Trip replied, giving Phil a flippant salute.

Skye made quick work of squiring Phil over to CR3B, which he likely would never have found on his own. There had never been much call for him to leave the copiers’ floor in his pervious position. 

“I’ll see you later, LC,” Skye said, giving Phil a playful slug on the arm, “Try not to have too much fun being secretive with AD Hill.”

Skye leaned closer and winked, “I’m supposed to come back in 20 minutes, so maybe I’ll get a job to do too. Not that making sure you don’t get lost isn’t a great job, it is,” Skye hastened to assure him.

“But maybe not the fullest use of your many talents,” Phil finished for her. 

Skye laughed, “Exactly, LC. It’s like you get me on a cellular level. I’ll see you in a bit.” 

Phil watched Skye go, feeling very glad she had a set of earthquake powers to go with her open and caring heart. Phil had always imagined that having a little sister would be equal parts terrifying and loving and now, with Skye, he was pretty sure that was 100% accurate. 

Phil was starting to think of Skye as being in some way ‘his’ – his family. He found himself pathetically hoping that maybe after this whole thing was over he could still see Skye sometimes. After all, she knew he was lying and still seemed to like him anyways. And as a child, Phil had always wanted a sister. 

After a perfunctory knock, Phil entered the conference room. 

“You’re late,” Fury informed him, not bothering to look up from the paperwork spread out on the table in front of him and Hill. 

“Sorry, sir,” Phil said, choosing the seat closest to the door and sinking down gratefully. 

“Let’s get down to business,” Fury said, sweeping up the majority of the papers and drawing his chair closer to the table. “We’re here to discuss your first operation in The Mole Hunt 2.0. Hill and I have decided to simply alter the original plan we had in place for the Captain’s next op, which I’m sure you’ll agree is reasonable.” 

He leveled Phil with a pointed look at that, although Phil wasn’t really sure what he was expecting. It did sound pretty reasonable to him. 

“We had been planning to have the Captain volunteer for testing a new non-lethal weapon for efficacy on enhanced individuals,” Fury elaborated. 

Ok, so Phil could see some problems with that. “I’m not an enhanced individual.” 

“Obviously,” Hill said, giving Phil an unimpressed look, “You did, however, express a desire for a customized and fitted set of body armor. The very newest body armor we have is still in testing phase, but it should theoretically be capable of absorbing at least one hit from our new non-lethal weapon. Since we’ve already customized the fit of the body armor for you, it makes sense that you should go ahead and volunteer for testing.”

“I did ask my assistant to requisition a fitted tactical vest,” Phil said. 

“And I promised you a set of body armor,” Fury interjected, “So you see, it’s all coming together perfectly.”

Phil was forced to concede, “I’m sure that as the Avengers Liaison a set of customized body armor would come in handy, but I fail to see how volunteering as a non-lethal weapon target is going to help you find a mole.” 

Hill leaned forward, her eyes glinting, “The end goal for a non-lethal weapon is, of course, non-lethality, but along the way mistakes can be made. And unfortunately a HYDRA mole would be eager to make them. Causing your death in a testing accident wouldn’t be flashy, but it would do the job. We’re simply presenting an opportunity for a few individuals to show their true loyalties in a controlled environment.” 

“So how is this non-lethal weapon supposed to kill me, exactly?” Phil asked.

“Dendrotoxin,” Hill said, “It’s a paralytic and at low doses causes temporary unconsciousness. We’re very excited about it’s use. Two of our top scientists in R&D developed a way to package it and modified it for use in handguns. The problem with the Dendrotoxin is that in high doses it’s lethal.” 

Phil stared at her in silence for a moment. “So you think one of the scientists will alter the concentration to make the dose lethal.” Phil nodded along with his thoughts, “Makes sense. It would probably be pretty easy to cover up too. The ME would expect there to be Dendrotoxin in the victim, so it wouldn’t raise any red flags.” 

Fury slid a file folder across the table to Phil. Opening it Phil found detailed specs and drawings for a toxin filled bullet and the accompanying weapon to fire it. 

“Night night gun?” Phil couldn’t help but say in his driest voice. 

“We’ve already vetoed that,” Hill said, “And Dr. Fitz is no longer allowed to name things.”

“The testing marksman for the project has dubbed them icers. He’s still allowed to name things,” Fury said, in an even drier voice than Phil’s. There really was no way to beat that man. 

Phil paused, “The only problem I see is that I would really prefer not to die from an overdose of paralytic agent. I imagine death would be by suffocation and that is very low on my list of preferred deaths.” 

Fury snorted, behind his hand and Hill glared at him. 

“We have an anti-toxin,” she told Phil, “It’s quite potent. As long as it’s administered within a minute of any dose of Dendrotoxin, you should make an immediate recovery. For reasons unrelated to the mole hunt, we didn’t advertise that we were searching for an antidote to the icers.” 

“What Hill is trying to say is that a non-lethal weapon with an instant cure wouldn’t be very fucking useful in the field. And that’s not even mentioning that testing has shown that the antidote can also provide prophylactic protection from low doses of Dendrotoxin over a period of two hours. So we made damn sure that no one knows about the antidote. Especially the scientists on the icer project,” Fury said, pinning Phil in place with his eye. 

“We’ll have a trusted agent standing by with the antidote,” Hill said, “So you’ll never be in any real danger.”

“Unless they just decide to shoot me with real bullets,” Phil said.

“Theoretically the body armor should take care of that.” 

“Does it cover my head?” Phil asked, sardonically.

“That would only come into play if the marksman testing the icer was the mole,” Hill pointed out.

“Is there a chance the marksman is the mole?” Phil felt that was an eminently reasonable question given the situation.

Hill looked at Fury, who then turned to look at Phil. Crossing his arms, Fury leaned back and said, “I’m not saying he is a suspect, but I’m definitely not saying he’s not. Take that how you will, Coulson.” 

“Charming,” Phil said, giving in to the impulse to subtly roll his eyes. From the glare Fury was shooting him he hadn’t been subtle enough. 

“You’ll be there when the gun is loaded,” Hill said, “If he loads it with real bullets, just knock him out. I heard through the grapevine that you’re good at that.” 

Hill gave Phil a broad grin. And Phil shook his head; the SHIELD rumor mill would truly never die. Hill had probably even seen the footage of his altercation with Garrett. Hell, Fury had probably shown it to her himself while they both had a good laugh. 

“And if he switches guns when I can’t see?”

“If he’s aiming for your head, duck,” Fury growled.

“These are all reasonable questions,” Phil told him, feeling justified in trying to fill in the holes in the Fury and Hill’s explanation, “Since I don’t know who the suspected moles are it’s difficult for me to rule out the many ways someone could potentially kill me. For example, what about the R&D team that made the body armor? What if they purposely left a deadly flaw in the new armor?” 

“Stark Industries made the body armor,” Hill said, “And if Stark had also been infiltrated by HYDRA, I’m pretty sure we’d all be dead already, so I wouldn’t worry about it.” 

“Ok. That makes sense a certain amount of sense,” Phil agreed. This would be so much easier if Hill and Fury would just level with him, but they were so inundated with secrets Phil couldn’t really be surprised that this process of acquiring information was rather akin to prying out teeth. “But what about the anti-toxin? How can you be so sure that wasn’t manufactured by a mole too? After all, it’s possible there’s more than one mole.”

Fury was looking seriously pissed off now, but Phil wasn’t going to stop asking questions until he was satisfied.

Hill had been looking serious too, but suddenly she let out a burst of laughter. “You have to hand it to him, Fury, he’s asking all the questions you asked and more. And aren’t you always telling me what a good quality that is in an Agent.” 

“He’s not an Agent, he’s a Liaison, that’s different,” Fury groused, but he had an amused look in his eye now. 

“For the sake of this op, I think we can consider him an Agent,” Hill said, “And for your information, Coulson, Dr. Banner developed the anti-toxin off-site. You can trust it.”

“Only one more question, I promise,” Phil said, “Who exactly is the trusted agent that will be charged with ‘resurrecting’ me?” 

Before Hill or Fury could reply there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in, Skye,” Hill called. 

Skye edged into the room, giving everyone a small smile. 

“Liaison Coulson,” Fury said, “Meet your angel of mercy or, if you prefer, the Doctor Frankenstein to your monster, Probationary Agent Skye.”

“Since you and Skye are already acquainted. And, of course, she’s already aiding and abetting our operation, I thought she’d make the ideal antidote delivery system,” Hill said. 

Phil couldn’t help but allow a bit of a smile to play over his lips. Hill had just done him a huge favor and he knew it. Rather than asking him to trust a stranger, she’d brought Skye in. Who might not be an experienced Agent, but Phil trusted her and that was worth more than experience in his book. And apparently in Hill’s too.

“Antidote?” Skye asked. 

“The Director and Assistant Director have decided to lure HYDRA into killing me with Dendrotoxin. Should HYDRA actually succeed in killing me, they’re putting you in charge of giving me the anti-toxin that will presumably bring me back to life,” Phil informed her. 

“No shit,” Skye said, “Is this like the Dendrotoxin from the night night guns?” 

“I’d say it’ll be pretty fucking identical, except we’ve already nixed calling them night night guns. This is not preschool, we’re not using them to dispense naps. Night night gun, my ass,” Fury muttered. Then he pointed his finger at Skye, “I’m more interested in how you know about the icers. No probies should be cleared for that project.”

“She spends so much time in R&D hanging out and helping with their computer problems, I’m fairly certain they don’t even realize she’s not actually on any of their projects,” Hill said, wryly.

“They aren’t very good with secrets while they’re in the lab,” Skye said, “They can’t even help themselves, they just get so excited while they’re working you can’t get them to shut up. They’re going to be real sad about the night night gun thing, Fitz liked that name.” 

“Well, let’s just say that I hope you’ll show more discretion than your scientist friends,” Fury said, giving Skye a menacing glare, “But the only thing you need to know for now is that Liaison Coulson will be heading down to help test our newest body armor with the icers in 20 minutes. You’ll go with him and stay close. If at any point he dies you’ll revive him with this.” Fury pulled a syringe from his inner coat pocket. 

“All you need to do is inject it into his muscle, so arm, leg, ass, wherever’s most convenient. Count to 10 and he should be awake again,” Hill said, grabbing the syringe from Fury and walking around the table to hand it to Skye where she was still standing by the door. 

“I’m still not completely sure that this is a good idea,” Phil said. He felt like a bit of a broken record, but it seemed to him that there were a lot of inherent risks to this plan and that it could all go spectacularly wrong very easily. 

Fury got up too and headed for the door, stopping along the way to lay his hand on Phil’s shoulder. 

“That’s a good sign. A healthy sense of unease is what’s going to keep you alive for the duration of this op,” Fury said, giving Phil a very serious look and then sweeping out of the room. 

“We’ll debrief afterwards. I’ll just stop by your office. Or the hospital wing, whichever is required,” Hill said.

“This will definitely work?” Skye asked, looking at the antidote with a very concerned face. 

“Don’t worry, Skye. The anti-toxin has been thoroughly tested and I trust the man who developed it for us,” Hill smiled at Skye and gave her a squeeze on the arm. They were clearly friends and Phil felt a little jealousy, which he immediately quashed. Hadn’t Fury said Hill was the one that brought Skye in? Phil didn’t need to be jealous of Hill, he needed to be grateful that she’d found Skye in her (definitely not broken) van and brought her to SHIELD where she could be happy and safe and have a room that wasn’t on wheels and celebrate the holidays. 

“Thanks, Maria,” Skye said, “I just don’t want anything to happen to Phil. He’s super cool.” 

Hill laughed, looking truly amused. “Just be sure to invite me too whenever you decide to have a sleepover and braid each other’s hair.” 

“Not enough hair,” Phil deadpanned, “What can you do?” Causing both Skye and Hill to laugh. 

“Skye’s a good judge of character, so I’m willing to bet you really are a cool guy Phil. So try not to get yourself killed. I’d hate to be the one who sent you to your death.” With that Hill headed out, leaving Phil and Skye alone in the conference room. 

Skye looked at Phil. “I know the two scientists on the ‘icer’ project, Fitz and Simmons. They are almost as cool as you, so I think we’re going to be ok today. I mean, Fitz wouldn’t even be able to alter the toxin level since he’s pretty hopeless with biology, which only leaves Simmons. And she is so nice and sweet. She definitely isn’t a HYDRA agent. Well, 98% isn’t. Maybe 95%.”

“My main concern is that the testing marksman could be the mole,” Phil told her candidly.

“Ward?” Skye said, her voice all disbelief, “No way, LC! He is way too hot to be a HYDRA mole. Trust me on this, that guy is seriously dreamy. If I thought he’d say yes, I’d ask him out in a hot minute.” 

Phil shook his head, and managed to get to his feet with Skye’s help. Determinedly not thinking about the fact that Skye appeared to have a crush on someone Fury had heavily implied was a potential mole.

“I’m pretty sure that HYDRA doesn’t actually screen out ‘hot’ guys, but I’ll be sure to ask if I ever run into one of their recruiters,” Phil commented drily. 

Skye rolled her eyes and tucked her arm under Phil’s for added support. 

“If all guys at HYDRA were as hot as Ward, I might even join,” Skye laughed. 

And Phil couldn’t help but join in. Skye’s bright happy spirit was contagious and even this ridiculous plan didn’t seem so bad knowing she would have his back the whole time. 

“Come on,” Skye said, “Lets go down to R&D early. You can meet Jemma and Leo, they’re really adorable and you are going to love them. And I can practically guarantee that after you see it in action you’re going to be begging Fury for an icer as a belated Christmas present.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Phil really wanted to do was go straight home, but he had a fake fiancé to think about.

In the end, the icer testing had been surprisingly anti-climactic. The new body armor had successfully blocked a single shot from the icer and only mildly stunned Phil with a second shot. The marksman, Ward, had not aimed for his head (or used real bullets) and the Dendrotoxin in the icer had (apparently) been well within the safe dosage level. 

Skye had hovered worriedly, hands in her pockets the entire time, but her relieved smile after the testing finished made it easier for Phil to gracefully accept that this little operation had been a waste of his time. In fact, the most exciting thing had probably been meeting Fitz and Simmons, who were both very brilliant and very prone to finishing each other’s sentences. 

Oh, and Phil definitely wanted an icer for a late Christmas present. 

Hill stopped by Phil’s office afterwards for his debrief, but didn’t give any indication if Phil’s lack of death meant that certain people had been cleared of suspicion or not. Phil was almost certain that the suspects being tested were Jemma Simmons and Grant Ward, as his read on Fitz had been insanely loyal to both SHIELD and his friends. 

However, it was hard to prove a negative, so Phil thought that while other suspects might get higher priority, they couldn’t entirely rule out Simmons or Ward from this test alone. Phil also wasn’t entirely convinced that HYDRA would actually be that eager to kill him, after all, he was no Captain America (even if he was supposedly engaged to the man). 

Trip brought Phil a giant stack of property damage waivers for the demolished skyscraper and rather than deal with them immediately (like he should), Phil stuffed them into his briefcase and hightailed it (read: hobbled) out of his office. 

“Two nights in a row! Good job, boss,” Trip laughed as Phil made his way past.

Phil pointed a finger at him, “That’ll be enough from the peanut gallery. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, sir,” Trip called after him. 

What Phil really wanted to do as he entered the hallway was to go straight home, but he had a fake fiancé to think about. So Phil headed over to the hospital instead. The Captain’s floor was quieter than normal, probably due to the shift change, so Phil didn’t run into anyone on his way to Steve’s room. Juggling his briefcase and cane, Phil awkwardly turned the door handle and used his hip to shove the door fully open. 

Coming into the room, Phil saw that Steve already had a visitor, Pepper. She was reading to him quietly, but she paused to smile at Phil as he entered the room. Apparently reaching a stopping point, Pepper carefully marked her spot and laid the book on the bedside table. Harry Potter. Seemed like Steve was still trying to catch up to pop culture, even in a coma. 

“Phil, I’m so glad to see you,” Pepper said, her voice soft and expressive. Phil couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“It’s wonderful to see you too, Pepper.”

“I’m afraid that his condition hasn’t changed today,” Pepper told him, shaking her head, “But they tell me that he’s no longer in a medically induced coma, just a … normal one. That doesn’t sound quite right, but they seem to think that’s a good thing.”

Phil walked over to the Captain’s side and peered at the various monitors. They didn’t look any different from last time he’d been in. 

Abruptly, Pepper’s phone began blaring ‘Highway to Hell’ and she jumped in her chair, knocking her knee into Steve’s bed. 

“Tony changed the ringtone again,” she said, smiling ruefully at Phil. She absentmindedly rubbed her knee, while she answered the call, “What?” 

There was a pause and Phil could hear Tony yelling from his position across Steve’s bed. He couldn’t make out what Tony was saying, but whatever it was had him worked up.

“Of course, I meant to say hello Tony, is there a reason you’re calling? Ok, first of all calm down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying when you talk that fast.” Pepper’s eyes squinted slightly, as she concentrated on whatever Tony was saying. 

“I’ll take care of it. Take a deep breath and sit down. Are you sitting? It’ll be fine. He won’t be mad at all. In fact, he’s right here and he’s not mad.” 

Pepper smiled at Phil, “You aren’t mad are you?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Phil told her honestly.

“See, he’s not mad. All right, I’m going to hang up now Tony. Seriously, don’t worry about it and stay sitting down until JARVIS says you’re breathing normally. This isn’t a big deal. I’ll invite him and he isn’t angry. Yes, yes. Pizza. Bye.”

Pepper rolled her eyes dramatically, hanging up the phone. “He forgot to invite you to his New Year’s Eve party. For some reason he’s convinced that this oversight will result in you hating him forever.”

“Ah, well, you can assure Mr. Stark that I’m not angry. And I appreciate the invitation, but I probably won’t be able to make it. After the week I’ve had, I really just want to stay in on Friday night.”

“Oh no! You have to come. Tony has this party every year and it means so much to him. Besides he’ll never believe you’re not mad at him if you don’t come!”

Phil felt himself wavering. Parties were stressful and messy and ridiculously tiring, but socializing, being with friends, that was supposedly good for him. Maybe good enough to outweigh the disadvantages. And Clint would be there. That pretty much trumped any cons Phil could come up with.

“I’ll come for a little while,” he told Pepper, who smiled happily at him.

“Thank you, Phil. Both Tony and I really appreciate you accommodating his often unique view of human interactions.” 

Pepper stood, swinging her long red hair over her shoulder, “Now I have to go get Tony some pizza, but I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Goodnight, Phil.” 

“Goodnight, Pepper,” Phil replied, sinking down into her vacated chair. 

Phil’s mind was drifting to possible conversations he could initiate with Clint tomorrow, when someone cleared their throat in the doorway. Phil didn’t jump, but it was a damn near thing. He needed to get his head in the game, he couldn’t be daydreaming like he was in high school with his first crush. Although, to be fair, Clint was way more fun to think about than his actual first crush. That guy had ended up being a complete asshole. 

Eyeing the reflection in Steve’s heart monitor, Phil identified his visitor without turning and felt inordinately pleased that he could project a small dose of omnipotence. 

“Good evening, Director,” he said, his voice cool and professional. 

His hands may have started sweating, but what the Director couldn’t see didn’t really count.

Fury closed the door and without preamble said, “We want you to implement a more targeted test tomorrow.”

Phil turned toward him and raised an expressive eyebrow to ask why the Director seemed almost apologetic about it.

“At Stark’s party.”

Ah. He should have seen that coming. “I guess I won’t be leaving early then,” Phil said, more to himself than Fury. 

Fury ignored him, “AD Hill has decided to use your more human aspects to our advantage, so rather than getting shot at, you’ll be attempting to get HYDRA to kill you via anaphylactic shock.” 

Phil wanted to roll his eyes so badly; he could barely keep them focused on Fury. “Because body armor is so useful against anaphylactic shock,” he quipped. 

“Hill has given you a severe allergy, which wouldn’t have been possible with the Captain, since the super serum prevents such problems. However for your standard squishy human a severe allergic reaction can be quite deadly.” 

“The only thing I’m allergic to is Poison Ivy,” Phil pointed out.

“Well HYDRA doesn’t know that. And your medical records now reflect your severe allergy to lemon.” 

“Lemon?” Phil said, when what he really meant was ‘you have got to be kidding me.’

“Something common enough HYDRA could easily make it look like an accident, but obvious enough that you’ll be instantly aware if you’ve been dosed. I was dubious at first, but Hill has convinced me this plan will work.” 

“So you just want me to sit around at Stark’s party and wait until someone tries to shove a lemon down my throat?” 

Fury nodded, “Essentially. I expect they’ll bribe the bartender, but you should probably leave your drink unattended as often as possible in case they decide to take a more direct route.” 

“Seems to me that it’s more likely that I’ll be roofied than poisoned. After all, it’s basic party safety to never lose sight of your drink. People are going to think I’m an idiot.”

“I don’t care if all of New York thinks you’re a floozy, Liaison Coulson, I want to catch this motherfucking mole yesterday. So you will NOT fuck this up.”

Phil narrowed his eyes, before turning his back on Fury and gazing angrily at Steve’s shoulder. “I won’t mess up my assignment Director, you have nothing to worry about.” 

A file thumped onto the end of Steve’s bed. “Here’s the outline and plan for the selective information drop. It’s self-explanatory, so I’m sure you can figure it out yourself. If you have any questions, call AD Hill.”

Phil heard the door open, almost silently. 

“Have a good night, Director.”

“I would suggest getting some sleep tonight, Liaison. You’re going to have a fun night tomorrow and we wouldn’t want you to be too tired to enjoy it.” 

Phil glanced over his shoulder to give Fury’s retreating back a stink-eye that felt extremely therapeutic. 

Fury was an asshole. Seriously, fuck New York thinking he was a floozy. Phil just didn’t want Clint thinking he was one. 

Phil did sleep, but not well and the bruise on his leg was still growing which was making him grumpy. But Phil was well aware that he needed to go to the office and play his part in this stupid plan to get HYDRA to feed him lemons. Phil actually liked lemons, which made the plan that much more ridiculous. 

Still, it was better than getting shot at, which was probably the only alternative Fury would offer if Phil fucked this up. Phil also didn’t want AD Hill thinking he was ungrateful for her planning, if she got the feeling he wasn’t being appreciative, she honestly might just shoot him herself. 

When Phil finally breezed into the office, Trip wasn’t at his desk, so Phil headed over to his own desk and got to work on the Avengers mission reports for the robot incident on Wednesday. 

At 11:45 Phil buzzed his intercom to Trip. “Can you come in for a second, Trip?”

“Hey, boss,” Trip said, coming through the door, “What’s up?”

“I need you to run an errand for me, if it’s not too much trouble,” Phil said, unable to help the note of embarrassment in his voice. Phil did not like asking for help, even from someone who, by job title definition, was actually supposed to be assisting him. Also, the fact that this favor was all a set-up didn’t help Phil’s embarrassment at all.

“Whatever you need, Coulson. That’s what personal assistants are for.” Trip winked at him and Phil responded with his best unimpressed eyebrow raise.

Then Phil sighed. “These reports are taking me longer than I planned. I’m just not going to have time to get lunch today, so I was hoping you could drop by the cafeteria and pick me up something to go.” 

“Of course,” Trip laughed, “I thought you were going to ask me to kill someone, you were acting so serious.” 

“Not yet, I’ll save that for next week. Or for when I can’t bear to read another of Stark’s mission reports,” Phil joked. Trip was always so nice, and after only knowing him a few days, Phil already felt like it was far-fetched that he was the mole, but from the mission outline it was clear that Hill felt he was one of the more plausible candidates.

Trip chuckled. “Do you want anything in particular to eat?”

“I’m not picky. Anything will do. Only …” Phil let himself trail off. Phil had decided it would be better this way, to make Trip think he was ferretting the information out rather than Phil willingly sharing it. Hopefully it would make Phil’s secret more enticing. Well, if Trip was actually the mole. And Phil was really hoping that wasn’t the case, both for his own sake and Skye’s. She would probably be heart broken if it turned out her friend had been betraying SHIELD.

Trip narrowed his eyes. “Only what, sir?” He asked, his face seeming less open than usual. 

“It’s just … you have to make sure there aren’t any lemons. No lemons at all,” Phil said quickly, like he might be embarrassed or ashamed about it. Which he was, but not because of revealing a personal weakness, like he hoped it appeared.

“Lemons?” Trip said, his face morphing from shuttered to confused in the blink of an eye. “Why no lemons?”

Phil took a deep breath hopefully conveying his discomfort with this issue to Trip. 

“It’s not something I like to talk about, but as my personal assistant it would probably be wise to make sure you know that I’m allergic to lemons. Deathly allergic, actually, I’ve nearly died from anaphylactic shock before. It’s quite an unpleasant experience at the best of times, so obviously I try to be careful. But I’m afraid I have to be extra vigilant for the next couple days.” Phil left that last bit of information hanging, using it to draw Trip further into his little story. And Trip rose to the bait like a piranha. 

“Man, boss, that really sucks. And I do hate to pry, but I have to ask, why exactly do you have to be extra careful right now?” 

Phil let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I misplaced my last Epi-pen during the attack on Christmas. Without the Epi-pen accidently ingesting lemon would be fatal. Obviously, I’ve made arrangements to get a new set of Epi-pens, but I haven’t had the time to pick up my prescription. My doctor called it in on Wednesday, but as I’m sure you remember, there were robots on Wednesday. And then paperwork, lots of paperwork.” Phil gave Trip a small smile, inviting him to join Phil in lamenting the amount of paperwork generated by the Avengers. 

“I can go get your prescription,” Trip offered gravely, “I’m your PA, I’m here to help you. And trust me Garrett asked me to do way weirder things while I worked for him.”

That was surprising. Why would Trip offer to fetch Phil’s Epi-pens? That would remove the very large vulnerability that Phil had just offered up on a platter. Luckily Phil had a plan in place for that as well.

Phil shook his head. “Pharmacy’s closed until the second. I wouldn’t worry, though. I haven’t had a slip-up since I came to SHIELD. I doubt that will change in the next two days.” 

Trip nodded slowly, “Ok, I’ll be back soon with lunch, then.” 

Trip turned to leave, but stuck his head back into the room, “And coffee?” 

“Yes, please,” Phil said, picking up his pen and returning to the paperwork. Even if Trip did turn out to be a mole, Phil had to admit he did at least have a proper understanding of when it was appropriate to get coffee (i.e. all the time). 

As the door snicked shut behind Trip, Phil allowed himself a small sigh. The information was leaked and the proverbial trap was set. Now Phil just had to wait around and see if someone started spiking his food and drink with lemon juice. Who knows, it might even work. After all, Trip had been a field agent seemingly betrayed by SHIELD after a debilitating accident, maybe he was a mole. 

Later that evening, Phil peered out the front window of his apartment and sighed heavily. It looked like the kind of night where sensible people just stayed home in the warm dry confines of their apartment. Phil usually ascribed to that group, sensible people, but here he was bundling himself up to venture outside where he would not only have to socialize and lie, but also wait around for someone to kill him. How exciting. 

Luckily he wouldn’t have to be outside for long, since Pepper was sending a car for him. He was about to head out, when a knock on the door broke the comfortable silence of his apartment. 

Assuming it was the driver, Phil opened the door quickly, ready to apologize for not getting outside in time to meet the car. 

It was Eddie. Phil clamped down very hard on the urge to slam the door in his face. Eddie was an idiot and an asshole and he had told Clint Barton of all people that he was dating Phil. Unfortunately that did not mean Phil was allowed to be rude to him or shoot him. Although, if push came to shove Phil figured not killing him was probably more important in the long run than maintaining a becoming modicum of politeness. 

Phil eyed Eddie suspiciously. He was holding a bouquet of flowers. Why was he holding a bouquet of flowers? 

“These’re for you,” Eddie said, all but shoving them in Phil’s face. 

“Oh, um … thank you?” It came out as a question, which Phil had not intended. The man was giving him a gift; the least he could do was pretend to appreciate it … Even if he really didn’t want it. 

Eddie looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck. “Eh, no problemo. Just saw ‘em and thought of ya.” 

“How are things going with the guy from upstairs?” Phil asked, hoping this was not an indication Eddie was re-imprinting on Phil. 

“Good, actually. Real good. It was nice of ya to set us up.” 

Nice may not have been an accurate word, as Phil had done it in the name of self-preservation, but if that was the spin Eddie wanted to give it, then Phil was willing to work with it. 

“I’m glad, I’ll just set these down,” Phil left the door open as he went to the kitchen and plunked the flowers into a mug hastily filled with water. That ought to hold them until Phil got back. 

Unsurprisingly, Eddie was still at the door when Phil returned. 

“Got plans for New Years?” Eddie asked. 

“Yes, I’m going over to a co-workers place. He’s having a party.” 

“Alright, well have a nice time. And if ya wanna leave early, we’re havin’ a party in the courtyard. You’re more than welcome.” 

Phil was actually kind of touched. Eddie was much nicer when he wasn’t trying to date you, even if he still needed to work on the meaning of personal space. Seriously, Phil had a bubble that he liked to maintain and Eddie was not respecting it. “Thanks, Eddie. I’ll keep that in mind. I actually better get going, but thanks again for the flowers.” 

“See ya later, I guess,” Eddie said with a shrug and then he turned and headed up the stairs, a small spring in his step. 

Phil allowed himself a moment of relief and prayed to anyone who would listen that Eddie never broke up with the guy from upstairs. 

His thoughts were interrupted when a voice rang from the landing below, “Phil!” 

It was Clint. 

Why the fuck was Clint here?

“Hey!” Clint said brightly as he bounded up the stairs and into view. “I’m your chauffer for the evening.” He wiggled his eyebrows ridiculously and Phil did not think it was in the least endearing (it totally was). 

Pausing on the landing, Clint beamed up at Phil. Phil felt his breath catch and his heart pound in response to Clint’s heart breaking, breathtaking beauty.

“Oh …” Well that sounded intelligent. Clint’s beauty was also brain removing, apparently.

“I mean, that is - Hi Clint. I wasn’t expecting you.” Phil viciously tamped down the blush his traitorous body was attempting to create to betray his less than professional feelings.

“Yeah, I know, but Pepper asked me to stop over since she knew I’d be in the area.” Clint grinned. “Didn’t want you chickening out and forgetting to show up. Something about Stark being heart broken, “ Clint waved his hand expansively. “So you ready to go or what?”

Phil glanced around himself. What had he even been doing before Clint showed up and destroyed every thought that had ever had the decency to appear in his overworked brain. Right Eddie had been here and Phil had gone to the kitchen with the flowers. Which meant he had probably left his cane in the kitchen. “I need to get my cane, come in for a minute?” 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Clint said, making his way past Phil and onto the living room couch as though he lived there himself. And wasn’t that a too tempting thought.

Phil refused to let himself dwell on it and instead snagged his cane from where he had leant it against the counter. 

“Ready,” he declared, tilting his head in Clint’s direction or Clint’s former direction, as he was apparently no longer in residence on the couch. Instead he found Clint peering at him from next to the Christmas tree. Phil did not even want to know how he’d gotten himself over there without a single sound.

“Your carriage awaits fair princess,” Clint said, ushering Phil out the door.

“Really?” Phil asked, “Princess? That’s what you’re going to go with?”

Clint pouted dramatically, carefully hovering at Phil’s elbow as they made their slow way down the stairs. “You’ve cut me to the quick, your most special of highnesses. I thought I was your knight in shining armor. You haven’t changed your mind have you?” Clint gasped dramatically, “You aren’t stepping out with another knight are you?”

Phil found himself laughing without even meaning too and avoided a stumble on the last step only thanks to Clint’s deft maneuvering and impressive upper body strength.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought this was going to be a ‘small’ party.”

The trip to Stark Tower passed in companionable silence, although it was occasionally tinged with Phil fearing for his life. Clint was not what you would call a subtle driver. 

As they got in the elevator, Clint scanned his palm and pressed the button for three floors above where the party was being held. He smiled at Phil’s questioning look. 

“Thought we could drop your coat off in my rooms. That way you won’t lose it in the mess.” 

“Ah, thanks,” Phil said, shrugging the coat off his shoulders and draping it over his free arm, “I suppose it will inevitably be a mess.”

“Well, Stark is hosting it; I’d be disappointed if a fight didn’t break out. Besides,” Clint said, shuffling his feet and look adorably sheepish, “I thought you might like to see Fluffums. I think … I think she misses you.” 

If Phil was a masochist, he could almost pretend this was Clint’s way of telling him to come over and visit more often. Which it wasn’t, but god did Phil wish it was. Wish the situation was different, but if wishes were horses … well, Phil definitely wouldn’t be able to fit them all into his apartment. 

But in spite of the fact that Phil wanted Clint to want him to come over, that would actually be a terrible thing. Because Phil was planning to stamp this childishly stupid ‘love’ thing into the dust. Spending more time with Clint would not be helpful at all in that mission. Although to be fair, standing with Clint in the elevator wasn’t exactly conducive to falling out of love either. 

The elevator doors slid silently open and the lights rose in the short hallway leading to Clint’s living room. 

“Just toss it anywhere,” Clint said, throwing his own coat over the back of the couch. 

Rather than following suit, Phil located the hall closet and hung his jacket on one of the many unoccupied hangers. Clint apparently wasn’t too big on hanging things up. After a moments consideration, Phil hooked his cane over the bar, leaving it to hang next to his jacket. 

“You aren’t bringing your cane?” Clint asked; his voice conveying a measure of concern that Phil did his best to ignore. 

“It’ll just get in the way,” Phil told him, shutting the closet door, “I’m sure I can find somewhere to sit if my leg bothers me.” 

Turning, Phil found both Clint and Fluffums perched on the back of the couch, eyeing him in apparent fascination. Phil’s heart fluttered unhelpfully, they were almost unbearably cute. Heads both tilted to the left, big blue-green eyes open wide, keen and penetrating. 

Phil had a flash of what it would be like to come home to this sight after a long day at work. To hang up his coat and then go cuddle on the couch with these two precious precious beings. Phil shook it away, he was being selfish, both of them deserved someone better than Phil. Someone who wouldn’t lie, someone who hadn’t spent his whole life drifting on the outskirts of society. 

Pacing over, Phil scratched Fluffums ears gently. She purred appreciatively and Phil did not think about whether he could get Clint to purr in contentment if he put his hands on his head. 

Apparently tired of ear scritches, Fluffums attempted to climb up Phil’s suit jacket sleeve. 

“My arm isn’t a climbing post, silly,” Phil scolded her gently, as he extracted her claws from his suit and set her back on the couch. She meowed pathetically and if possible, opened her eyes even wider.

“I know,” Phil told her consolingly, “But I can’t get hair all over my suit right now. I’m going to a party, honey.” 

“Uh, you could come up after the party too. I mean, when you get your coat and cane, you could hang out with Fluffums some more. Then you won’t need to worry about keeping your suit clean,” Clint offered, running a hand through his hair, tousling it into an even more appealing mess. 

Phil’s mouth went unhelpfully dry, so he simply nodded and followed Clint back to the elevator. 

Clint and Phil were silent for the short trip down to the party. And when the elevator doors slid open onto the shared floor of the Avenger’s section of the tower, Phil was immediately overwhelmed by the noise.

“I thought this was going to be a ‘small’ party.”

Clint smiled, “For Stark this is small. Besides, you can’t really expect it to be too small when he invites over half of SHIELD.”

“I think I see some of my co-workers from the copy room,” Phil said faintly, not particularly interested in facing them in the middle of this farce. Dear God, that was Melinda in a swanky silver dress over by the window, sparkling against the black backdrop, while she chatted with, of all people, Grant Ward. She met his eyes from across the room and raised her glass in his direction. He’d definitely have to talk to her because she might kill him otherwise. 

Clint put a firm hand on Phil’s elbow and towed him across the room. “I would hope you see some people you know. I’m pretty sure Stark invited anyone who you could have conceivably interacted with at work.” Clint rolled his eyes at Phil, “I mean, he could have just asked who you’re friends at work were, but inviting everyone just seemed so much easier. 

“It was easier, Legolas! I just had Jarvis do it.” Stark slung his arms around both of their shoulders. “Besides Fury said it was a good idea, he even helped add some names to the list. And if the one-eyed overlord is onboard, you can’t knock it!” 

Phil’s leg twinged slightly in protest as Tony rested a not insignificant amount of his weight onto him. His leg was really doing better than he’d expected, this twinge wasn’t anything he needed to worry about, at least not yet. Clearly Stark had pre-gamed extensively, so Phil wasn’t surprised he needed to be propped up. In a minute he might have to protest, but for now, Phil was fine waiting for Stark to get his feet under him. 

Clint apparently was of a different opinion and wanted Stark off of him immediately. He grabbed the back of Stark’s arm, where it lay over Phil’s shoulders and yanked it up, pulling Tony into a tight twirl. Stark came to a woozy stop in front of them, blinking confusedly, while Clint glared at him. 

“Watch it, asshat,” Clint all but growled, surprising Phil with his obvious anger and menace, “Phil’s leg still isn’t ready for your drunk ass!” 

Wait, what? 

“Oh fuck, Coulson, Phil, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think,” Stark looked truly upset and Phil had no idea how to react to Tony’s apologies or Clint’s apparent chivalry.

“Nothing to worry about,” Phil replied, rather later than he should have.

Stark made a funny face at him, clearly giving the matter more thought than it deserved. 

Finally he announced with far too much gravity, “Still, I owe you a drink! Lots of drinks. And then I’ll help you find your little protégé, so you can sit down with her. I had to beg Fury to let her out after 9pm, so she could come to the party. Well, Pepper had to ask nicely, but close enough.”

Since Phil’s goal was apparently to get as many possibly poisoned drinks as possible, Stark’s ‘lots of drinks’ plan was probably in the books for him tonight, so he might as well get started. And the information that Skye was here definitely brightened the rest of the evening. Maybe he could introduce her to Melinda, those two would get on like a house on fire. It would be adorable. And deadly. But mainly adorable. 

“Sure,” he replied, “I could use a drink after all that property damage paperwork I had to fill out for you maniacs today. And I’d love to see Skye. She must be very happy to get a break from her curfew.”

Both Clint and Tony grinned unrepentantly at him, before ushering him further toward the bar. 

“What will you have, sir?” The suit clad bartender asked diffidently. 

“Margaritas!” Stark exclaimed far too eagerly. Clint exchanged an amused glance with Phil. 

“I’ll just have a gin and tonic,” Phil told the man. He wasn’t especially fond of the drink, but since its primary purpose would be to sit around and attract lemon juice Phil figured he should get something where the taste would be slightly obvious. 

“Clint will have vodka,” Natasha said from behind them, slinking up to the bar in a stunning red dress. “It’s a tradition,” she conversationally informed Phil. “Best way to ring in the New Year.”

Phil smiled, “I’ll have to take your word for that.” The bartender slid his drink in front of him and Phil took a careful sip to remind himself of the taste, so he would be ready to detect (or not detect) lemon later. He was kind of hoping that his drink would remain unmolested, against his better judgment he had become rather fond of Trip and his jovial sense of humor. 

Ruthlessly crushing a fond smile for Clint and Natasha’s ill-advised drinking contest, Phil allowed Tony to pull him over to where Skye was standing with Fitz and Simmons next to a small table.

While Simmons passionately argued that people shouldn’t be allowed to play words in scrabble that they couldn’t define, Phil turned around and set his drink on the table behind them. After studiously ignoring it for a precise 10 minutes (and it really was difficult to never glance that way, especially when he heard voices behind him), Phil finally turned to go take a testing sip, only to find Clint chatting with Pepper at the very table he’d laid his ‘bait’ on. 

He took a sip anyway, but as he’d expected, after spotting both Hawkeye and the indomitable Ms. Potts at the table, no one had been stupid enough to dare try spiking anything into his drink. 

Pretending he did not see the odd looks Pepper and Clint were shooting him, Phil grabbed Skye’s arm and pulled her away from the now captivating conversation regarding the best way to make a sandwich according to Fitz. 

“Walk with me,” Phil cajoled, convincing her to slip her arm through his, as he led her across the room with his un-lemony cup in the other hand. 

Phil pulled Skye over to a window and stuck the cup on the windowsill, tucking it almost entirely behind the curtain.

“Are you on an op tonight?” Skye hissed at him.

Phil just looked at her, allowing her to see how depressed this whole farce was making him.

“Shit,” she cursed, “Ok, we’ve got this. No worries. So I’m going to guess you’re supposed to be getting someone to roofie you, is that close?”

Phil chuckled weakly, “That’s what I told Fury it would look like. At least, I’m not quite at the roofie level, but I am supposed to be encouraging someone to spike my drink.”

“With what?? Poison?” Skye whispered, looking more and more alarmed, “They didn’t give me an anti-toxin this time!”

“No, no,” Phil hastened to assure her, “It’s non-lethal.” 

Skye nodded looking skeptical, “Ok, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Phil said, trying to give Skye a reassuring smile. 

“I think I’m going to head over to the other room, make it especially tempting,” Phil told her.

Skye’s forehead wrinkled and her mouth pressed into a thin line, she was clearly displeased with him. And that made Phil feel even unhappier than the stupid roofie thing. 

“You don’t have your cane,” Skye finally said, “So I think we had best go to the other room together and find some place to sit down.” 

Phil wordlessly took her arm again and was pathetically grateful that with her help he could walk without the limp that had been becoming more pronounced after his prolonged bout of standing.

After they settled into a pair of armchairs in the corner of the adjoining room, Skye crossed her arms and glared at the other partygoers like they had personally offended her. Phil didn’t really know what to do to cheer her up. He just hoped she wasn’t as upset at him as she seemed. If she was really angry, she wouldn’t have come with him to sit down, would she?

Phil made eye contact again with the silvery vision that May was so beautifully pulling off. Giving Phil the kind of toothy smile that he imagined sharks give their prey, May headed over in his direction.

“Phil,” She said, upon arriving in front of the arm chairs, “The copy room has been boring without you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Melinda,” Phil said, struggling to get out of the armchair to give her a proper greeting. 

“Oh, sit down,” Skye snapped, “Everyone can see your leg is not in the best shape this evening. I don’t know where on Earth you’ve hidden your cane, but when I find it I’m not sure whether to insist you use it or smack you in the shins with it.” 

Melinda’s face broke into a genuine smile. “I like her,” she said to Phil, “We’re keeping her, right?”

“Melinda, Probationary Agent Skye. Skye, Melinda May,” Phil said, gesturing between the two for his introductions. 

Melinda dropped gracefully down onto the arm of Skye’s chair, saying conversationally, “He’s just the worst isn’t he? I don’t think he was a shred of self-preservation in his entire body. Keeping him from overworking or dying from a coffee overdose is a full time job.” 

“It really is!” Skye exclaimed, “And the doctor said that if he’d been eating and sleeping the gunshot wound wouldn’t have been nearly so bad, but he still refuses to listen to reason.” 

“I’m right here,” Phil pointed out meekly, not having any real hope of distracting the ladies from their chosen topic.

They both swung their heads to look at him and then back to look at each other. Then they rolled their eyes with amazing synchronicity.

“You know, he tried to tell me that he got mugged when he came back to work. I still can’t believe you didn’t invite me to take down a HYDRA cell with you. I thought we were cube-mates, Phil. Cube-mates don’t get shot at without each other,” May leaned back against the side of the chair with a smirk. 

Phil narrowed his eyes at Melinda. “I thought you were sick of bullets, hence the transfer to staples,” Phil pointed out.

Melinda shrugged, “Not so sick of them that I want you to get shot at by yourself.”

“Well, I wasn’t by myself,” Phil said, “The Captain was there.”

“Right, of course,” Melinda said, “How could I forget your fiancé? It’s almost impossible to get Phil to shut up about how perfect Captain America is on the best of days.” Melinda told Skye, conversationally. 

Skye shot Phil an alarmed look, but gamely replied, “I’ll bet. They are super in love. It’s cute.” 

Melinda smirked and Phil gave her his best quelling glance. At least she was playing along, and didn’t seem to have any interest in betraying his secret. He should probably mention to Hill that Melinda needed to be read in on the op or at least on the fib about his engagement. 

Melinda’s eyes suddenly lit up. “I’m afraid I have to run, I’m trying to seduce one of the snipers tonight. It’s going well,” Melinda looked positively predatory for a moment, before turning back to Phil and Skye. “It was lovely to meet you Skye. I’m glad to see that Phil has someone to help look after him up on the exalted Liaison level. Try to keep him out of trouble, but if you need backup you can call me. I’m almost always at my desk. Hazards of the copy room.” 

With that Melinda stalked off, tracking her sniper prey.

“I guess that reconciliation with her ex-husband didn’t work out,” Phil said drily.

“If I had any chance at him, I’d be sad she’s after Ward, because let’s be honest, he’s going to say yes. I mean, you’d have to be insane to say no to a lady like Melinda.” Skye leaned forward, smiling at Phil. And Phil could only feel relieved that he’d apparently been granted some forgiveness in exchange for introducing May. And also some sincere relief that Skye wasn’t going to be heartbroken over Ward. 

“She used to be a field agent, didn’t she?” 

Phil nodded. “She was a Senior Agent, actually. They called her the Cavalry, but she’s always hated that name.” 

“Dang,” Skye whispered, “Trip told me about her. I can’t believe that I just met the Cavalry. Life is so surreal.” 

Phil smiled at her naiveté. “It’s been about 10 minutes, I’m going to head to the bathroom and then back to check out my drink.”

“Ok, I’ll catch up with you later,” Skye agreed, getting out of her chair to help Phil up, but graciously allowing him to limp his own way over to the bathroom.

Phil spent a while picking invisible lint off of his suit pants in the bathroom, before making it back to his windowsill. A glance at his watch revealed it had been 20 minutes since he abandoned his drink to the HYDRA masses.

When he got there Phil made a surprising discovery, his drink was gone. 

Surreptitiously glancing behind the curtain Phil tried to spot where his gin and tonic had gotten to. Not seeing it Phil was forced to reassess. Maybe he’d interrupted the ‘poisoner’ and they had taken the glass in their hurry? Or maybe a waiter had picked it up? Or maybe he had left it on a different windowsill? 

No, Phil had barely even touched his drink – there was no way he was that drunk. And even if he were, he wouldn’t be getting confused about where his drink had been so carefully abandoned. After putting that much effort into the ridiculous charade, it certainly wasn’t something he’d be inclined to forget.

Phil was in the process of more thoroughly checking behind the curtains, when Clint’s voice chimed from behind him, “Looking for your drink?” 

Phil did not squeak or jump (he really didn’t), but his whole body twitched in an entirely alarming fashion. 

Turning around quickly, the first thing Phil noticed was that Clint not only held a half full bottle of vodka in his hand, but also a small glass filled with what could only be Phil’s gin and tonic.

Clint grinned dopily at him, “Thought I’d keep an eye on it while you were in the bathroom.” He offered it back to Phil like it was some sort of precious gift. 

“Ah, thank you, I appreciate that,” except of course, Phil really didn’t appreciate it. He was trying to keep his drink free from eyes very much on purpose and the gorgeous idiot with hawk-eyes was managing to mess this up quite spectacularly. Still, wouldn’t do to be impolite. Clint no doubt thought he was being helpful. 

After taking his drink from Clint, he allowed himself to be ushered onto a bench and drawn into a discussion about Master Chef, while he idly sipped his decidedly non-citrusy drink. When Clint turned to look for Natasha, Phil tipped the rest of his drink into a convenient planter and then made his excuses, waving the empty glass as explanation. 

Making his way over to the bar opposite the one his original drink had been procured at, Phil once again ordered a gin and tonic. No lemon that he could detect. Which meant two of the bartenders were most likely not trying to kill him. Although, they could be attempting to lull him into a false sense of security. But that seemed unlikely, since he would hardly be expecting to be poisoned at a New Year’s party. Point being, he had one more bartender to go and then he’d be left with the ridiculous number of guests and wait-staff as his suspects. 

While he was singularly un-fond of being shot at, he found himself rather wistfully thinking about how much easier it was to be bait for, since it required far less activity on his part. If people were trying to kill you, you shouldn’t have to work for it. That was definitely their fucking job.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a fleeting moment Phil thought the whole stupid thing was actually going to work, unfortunately this moment of happiness and satisfaction was short lived – ruined, perhaps predictably, by none other than the world’s greatest marksman, Clinton Francis Barton.

A couple hours in and the party was still picking up steam, Phil had done a fair bit of loitering around while most definitely not watching his glass, but to no avail. 

Clint had developed the alarming habit of appearing from out of seemingly nowhere to play protector of Phil’s cup. No matter how far away Clint was when Phil abandoned his drink, Clint always managed to be right there standing next to it when Phil would casually glance over. Phil had convinced Skye to attempt to distract Clint, but she had just ended up being dragged along to stand next to Phil’s cup with Clint. In his desperation, Phil was even contemplating begging Hill for help.

Clearly, this was getting ridiculous. Clint couldn’t just keep guarding Phil’s glass for the rest of the night (although no one seemed to have informed Clint of that little fact). Phil was frustrated and very firmly keeping himself from attempting to strangle Clint’s oh-so-thoughtful neck (or possibly distract him by kissing him until he was gasping for breath and clutching at Phil to stay upright (Phil was more in favor of one of those plans than the other, even if he couldn’t enact either)), so he decided to permanently abandon the glass in Clint’s keeping and wander up to the third and final bartender to get a new one. 

After all, it wasn’t like Phil had to pay for the drink himself. That’s why God invented open bars (and Tony Stark). Phil ordered his third gin and tonic, turning to check his phone as he waited (and to give the bartender ample time to have fun with lemon juice should the desire strike him). The phone informed Phil that it was only 11 pm. He was stuck here another hour at minimum. Unless he faked a nice case of anaphylactic shock, while that wasn’t part of AD Hill’s plan, it would sure lend a nice sense of veracity to the whole ridiculous charade. 

Phil was tucking his phone back into his pocket when he spotted a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. The bartender had just made a gesture that didn’t seem quite right. Phil had long ago developed his ability to make gut judgment calls on situations of questionable intent and his gut was practically flipping upside down right now. 

For a fleeting moment Phil thought the whole stupid thing was actually going to work out and he was going to pull this off and be able to go home. Unfortunately this moment of happiness and satisfaction was short lived – ruined, perhaps predictably, by none other than the world’s greatest marksman, Clinton Francis Barton. 

The bartender had just handed Phil his gin and tonic and he was preparing to take a nice big sip of the hopefully lemon-spiked drink, when he heard an ungodly yelp from the other side of the room. Turning to look, Phil barely had time to spot Clint barreling toward him, arms flailing, looking like a giant lunatic, before it was far to late to save himself. Clint hit Phil in a rather impressive flying tackle (at least, it would have been impressive if it hadn’t been Phil he was barreling down on). 

Phil had the chance to register Clint’s hands hitting his chest and draw in one gasping aborted breath before he was borne down to the floor by Clint’s momentum. Phil wasn’t entirely sure how Clint managed it, but by the time they landed he was firmly wrapped in Clint’s arms and his head landed on one of Clint’s sinfully gorgeous biceps. Really, the only thing he could find to complain about in the whole situation was the fact that they were both now drenched in his highly anticipated “poisoned” gin and tonic. 

Phil could just barely detect a faint hint of lemon over the nearly overpowering smell of the gin. In a moment of desperation he found himself seriously considering licking Clint’s neck where it shown sticky with the spilled drink, just to prove to himself there was lemon in it. Wow, it was kind of amazing how much he wanted to do that – and for that reason alone he managed to stop himself. 

Clint shifted on top of him, pushing himself up onto his elbows, and conveniently rubbing his thigh along Phil’s groin. Actually, it really wasn’t convenient at all since Phil instantly found he had more important things to be doing than worrying about tracking down a HYDRA mole (i.e. not losing a substantial portion of his blood flow to his very interested dick). 

Clint was looking at him with wild eyes, that seemed to be almost terrified, but that couldn’t be right. What on earth did Clint have to be scared of in the heart of Tony Stark’s stupidly secure building? Clint blinked and the fear disappeared like it had never been there, maybe Phil had only imagined it. 

But he certainly hadn’t imagined their current position or how they got there. What on Earth had Clint been thinking? After making such a production earlier about Stark putting weight on Phil’s leg, it didn’t seem like tackling would be the next logical step – although Phil’s leg didn’t feel too bad at all. He was just going to mark that down as Clint’s mad super spy skills at work; seriously, he wouldn’t put it past SHIELD to train their agents in proper techniques for tackling of invalid liaisons. 

It finally registered with Phil that the room was quiet and they were the center of attention. This gave him the presence of mind to futilely push at Clint’s broad shoulders and say, “I would be obliged if you would get off of me.” 

Phil complemented this with his best bland smile and Clint got with the program practically flying off of Phil like he was of fire. Phil levered himself into a sitting position and wiped a hand down the damp arms of his suit. His dry cleaners were going to be pissed. Looking up, Phil found Clint showing off his ridiculously large puppy dog eyes, while his dirty blonde hair dripped sadly with the remains of Phil’s drink.

“May I ask why you suddenly felt the need to knock me to the floor?” Phil felt like this was an eminently reasonable question. Although, now that he thought about it Clint had been acting odd all evening, what with stalking Phil’s drink and such, maybe there were far more empty vodka bottles in Clint’s evening than Phil had previously suspected. 

“Sorry, Phil,” Clint said, shaking his head and spraying Phil’s face with even more gin and tonic. Clint winced dramatically when he realized what he’d just managed to do. Phil calmly wiped his face with his damp handkerchief, before tucking it back into his pocket, all the while manfully resisting the urge to find a taser and give Clint a nice lesson in party etiquette (or maybe just tackle him to the floor and make sure Clint and every other person in the room had no doubt about Phil’s stupid unrequited feelings).

“But I had to,” Clint said, scrambling to his feet and thoughtfully reaching down to help Phil up as well. Phil was actually grateful for that, since he wasn’t entirely sure he could have managed it without his cane. Or at least, Phil was grateful in so far as it was all Clint’s fault he was on the floor in the first place. Once safely back on his feet, Phil leveled Clint with his best ‘you better explain yourself look’. Conveniently it brought instant results.

“That bartender put lemon juice in your drink!” Clint all but shouted, flailing his arms comically to level an accusing finger at the bartender in question. A hush seemed to fall over the already quiet room at this and Phil had one glorious second to savor that fact that he had actually managed to get HYDRA to dose him with lemon juice, before he realized that there was no way Hawkeye had the clearance to know about that – and then his moment of happiness was replaced with the far more normal sinking feeling that this nights charade had all been for naught.

After all, how had Clint known Phil couldn’t have lemon? 

“What on Earth are you talking about? All I ordered was a gin and tonic, I don’t know how up to date you are on your mixology, but I can tell you there isn’t any lemon juice involved.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Phil, but I definitely saw that guy put lemon juice in your drink.” Phil was willing to accept this at face value, but then Clint continued, “He was clearly trying to kill you!”

Phil raised one eyebrow, then decided that didn’t really do Clint’s declaration justice, so raised his other eyebrow as well. 

At that point the bartender decided to chime in. “Hey, no way man. Sure I put some lemon in his drink, but that’s just a twist I like to add.”

Phil took a moment to reflect that he’d just confessed far too easily to be a HYDRA operative, before Hawkeye dove across the bar and yanked the bartender off his feet and back across the bar by his collar. 

“Yeah,” Clint snarled in his face, “Well, you know what I think? I think you’re going to be thrown into a small dark jail cell for the rest of your pathetic life for attempting to murder the Avenger’s personal liaison.” Clint could really be fairly terrifying when he wanted to be. Phil was impressed that the bartender hadn’t burst out in tears yet - maybe he actually was a HYDRA operative after all. 

“Alright, alright, man, chill. Some dude gave me 100 bucks earlier this evening to give the suit guy a drink with lemon in it. Said it was a practical joke. Seriously, that’s all. I don’t know why you’re talking about murder, but it was just a harmless joke.”

“A joke?” Clint snarled, shaking the bartender by the neck of his button down, “He’s deathly allergic to lemon, so that’s some joke buddy.” 

Phil couldn’t stand idly by and listen anymore; he needed to talk a more active role in what was no doubt the complete implosion of this little mole trap.

“How did you know that?” He asked, directing the question at Clint, who looked to be on the verge of homicide. 

Clint loosened his grip on the hapless bartender and looked at Phil with an odd expression on his face. “What?”

“How did you know that I’m allergic to lemons?” Phil repeated, “I don’t remember sharing that information with you.”

Clint’s face smoothed into his stupid, sheepish, heart-melting smile and he looked unfairly adorable. “Oh, well your PA told me. He figured that I could keep an eye out for you,” Clint leaned incrementally closer to Phil and lowered his voice, “Since you’re out of Epi-pens and all.”

“My PA told you that,” Phil repeated skeptically, “My PA, Trip?” Phil specifically remembered indicating the information was not public knowledge. What possible reason could Trip have for sharing the information with Clint if he was actually a mole? And then why tell Clint of all people? 

“Well,” Clint said, blushing disconcertingly, “He didn’t just tell me. I mean, he told everyone who was in the break room at the time. So I volunteered to keep an eye on the surveillance side of things. And, of course, Trip and Skye kindly liberated an Epi-pen from the medical, so we would be ready just in case.” 

Clint turned his attention back to the bartender, pointing his free finger at him. “So don’t think you were ever going to get away with it!” Clint shouted, “Skye has an Epi-pen and we all learned how to use it this afternoon, so Liaison Coulson was going to be fine no matter what you did.”

Phil narrowly resisted the overpowering urge to slap his hand to his forehead and declare the universe had won. Trip had apparently told a whole herd of random people in the break room about Phil’s ‘allergy,’ that made no sense. But worst of all, if Trip had told a room full of people not just about Phil’s oh-so-serious ‘allergy’, but about his lack of Epi-pens, then there was no way to tell who had given the information to HYDRA. Although, the fact that he’d apparently participated in a raid with Skye to acquire an Epi-pen was making Trip look like either a very bad suspect or an exceedingly clever one, it was quite difficult to tell the difference.

Still there was a chance that something could be salvaged out of this catastrophe. Phil turned to the bartender (who had clearly been hoping that he’d been forgotten, in spite of Clint’s firm grip on his shirt), “You’ll be providing a description of the person who hired you to a SHIELD sketch artist.”

“Yes, sir,” he agreed readily, apparently finally appreciating how serious his situation was. 

Phil turned to surveyed the room, which was still mostly quiet and focused on the little drama Phil had been co-starring in. So Phil turned to Clint and said, “And you, Hawkeye, owe me another gin and tonic, chop chop.” 

A rustle of laughter filtered through the room and the noise level began ratcheting back up as people returned to their own drinks and conversations. And Phil took the opportunity to lean surreptitiously back against the bar and wish he’d never left his apartment. 

Skye sidled up to Phil and tucked an Epi-pen into his jacket pocket. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t realize it was a ‘plan’.”

Phil shook his head. “It was a stupid plan. Thanks for the Epi-pen. I’ll hang on to it.” 

“Ok, let me know if you need anything,” Skye said, before drifting off to chat with Fitz and Simmons again. 

Clint appeared at Phil’s elbow sometime later proffering a gin and tonic that he didn’t particularly want, but accepted anyways. 

“Sorry about, you know, everything,” Clint said, with an expansive gesture that covered the entirety of the current scene, from Phil’s damp suit, to the bartender, who seemed afraid to do more than breathe. But it was hardly Clint’s fault, so Phil gave him a slight smile. 

“No need to apologize, it could have been much worse.” 

“Yeah,” Clint said, an almost imperceptible shiver wracking his body, “I was, well, I was worried about you.” 

Phil’s heart clenched and he forced himself to keep breathing evenly before replying, “Thank you, Clint, I appreciate you watching my back.” Clint responded to this by blushing in an entirely fetching fashion, which really ought not be allowed for the sake of Phil’s continuing sanity. 

At that point Hill showed up, with a couple of agents in tow. “Liaison Coulson, we’ll take over from here.” 

Phil sent her a dry look that she returned in spades. Looked like it would be back to the drawing board, he hadn’t conclusively proven Trip’s involvement or lack of involvement with HYDRA. 

“I’d appreciate that Assistant Director Hill. Let me know if you need my help for anything.” 

“Enjoy the rest of the party, Coulson,” Hill said, ushering the bartender into SHIELD custody. 

After watching them cross the room and enter the elevator Phil told Clint confidingly, that he really just wanted to go home. 

“No reason you can’t, Phil, give me a minute and I can go get your coat and rustle up a car.” 

Oh god, that sounded beyond tempting, and really there was no longer a reason for him to stay to midnight, in fact, by midnight he could be at home, nestled in bed pretending that this whole evening had never happened.

Phil felt a little guilty for not going back up to Clint’s floor to pet Fluffums, but since they’d only met a grand total of two times, he figured she’d be able to handle the disappointment with equanimity. Mainly Phil was focused on getting home and sleeping until tonight made more sense. 

Clint appeared with Phil’s things and maneuvered him onto the elevator in spite of Stark’s vehement protests that it wasn’t even midnight yet and Skye appearing to pout and ask why LC didn’t like them anymore.

Once in the elevator, Clint thoughtfully helped Phil shrug on his coat, and if his hands seemed to linger for a touch longer that was strictly necessary, well you wouldn’t catch Phil complaining about that. 

Rather than heading toward the car that Clint had picked him up in, Clint ushered Phil into the back of a terribly discreet black sedan, before gracefully crawling in next to him. They were already moving before Phil’s brain caught up enough to realize that Clint wasn’t ‘driving’ him home, as he’d expected, but was accompanying him home, for no very discernable reason. Although, in retrospect, given his vodka consumption, maybe it was a good thing Clint wasn’t operating a vehicle. 

“Clint,” Phil started, preparing to tell him he didn’t really need to come. 

Clint promptly interrupted him, “You almost died on my watch tonight. Just let me see you home, ok?”

The ‘ok’ came out so plaintively that Phil found it impossible to do anything but nod complacently and accept Clint wasting his time seeing Phil back to his apartment. 

And Phil was extremely grateful for Clint’s thoughtfulness, he had a feeling that he would need a hand getting to the door and it would have been humiliating to ask the driver to help him. It had been a long night and he’d been without his cane for most of it. Even sitting down in the rather luxurious back seat, Phil’s leg was shaking subtly with exhaustion.

Or maybe not so subtly, since Clint reached out and gave Phil’s knee a gentle, but reassuring squeeze, his steady hand stilling the trembling as warmth soaked through Phil’s pants and into his skin. 

They were almost to Phil’s place when Clint broke the silence. “Thanks for letting me take you home, Phil.”

“I should be thanking you,” Phil protested, “I mean you … well, you certainly protected me from that lemon juice tonight.” Phil had meant to say ‘saved my life,’ but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it, since it would be such a blatant lie – even though Clint wasn’t supposed to ever know that, Phil just couldn’t.

Clint shot him a soft smile, which shone through the dark night, “I’m just glad I spotted it, but you should be more careful, I won’t always be there.” 

“I was careless,” Phil said, since that was also true (although, how on earth he’d have known to prepare for a scenario where Trip told Clint (and Skye (and a roomful of people)) that he was allergic to lemon, Phil really couldn’t say). “It won’t happen again.” (Also hopefully true.)

“We’ll make sure of it together,” Clint said, his hand finding it’s way back onto Phil’s knee. Phil drew his courage together and placed his hand on top of Clint’s, curling his fingers lightly around the warm skin. 

“Thank you,” Phil whispered, tightening his grip on Clint’s hand involuntarily, his brain trying to wrap itself around how much he wanted to keep it there forever. How much he wanted Clint to be his forever. His plan to fall out of love with Clint had clearly been an epic fail.

The car pulled to a stop in front of Phil’s apartment and Clint twisted his hand under Phil’s, threading their fingers together in a perfect fit. Then Clint helped Phil out of the car and across the courtyard, all the while keeping a firm possessive grip on Phil’s hand. They were nearly at the door into his stairwell when Clint tugged on his hand, pulling him to a stop by the wall. 

Phil glanced around the courtyard and spotted Eddie in the crowd of people gathered in the center to wait for the New Year to arrive. Phil glanced at his watch, 5 minutes until midnight – a whole new year ahead of them – perhaps it was stupid to wish that it would be better than last year, but it was a wish he couldn’t help.

Phil turned to look fully at Clint, regretfully allowing their clasped hands to separate. Phil felt instantly alone and cold without Clint’s hand in his, but he forced himself to think about how stupid that was. Clint was still right here, still standing close in the dark night, no need to feel alone or cold. 

“Hey, Phil,” Clint said, jostling him out of this thoughts, “I couldn’t help but notice that Eddie was leaning at you earlier. He’s not giving you any more problems is he?”

Phil tilted his head in honest confusion, “What do you mean?” Phil asked, before remembering that Eddie had given him flowers right before Clint had arrived earlier this evening. 

“Oh, you mean because he gave me those flowers?”

“He gave you the flowers and then he leaned,” Clint said, emphasizing the word ‘leaned.’

Phil shook his head, still confused, “I mean, it was nice of him to give me the flowers. He just started dating another tenant and he hasn’t been giving me any problems. It’s actually pretty great.” 

Clint twisted his mouth into a half-frown and gave Phil a considering look. “Yeah, but then he leaned,” Clint reiterated. 

Phil fought the urge to throw his hands up and declare defeat; he was clearly missing something here. “I thanked him for the flowers, but I don’t know that anyone was leaning on anything.” 

Clint shook his head, “Leaning isn’t thanking, it’s different. It involves wanting and accepting attention.” Clint gestured up to the sky with his arm, “It involves your whole body and magnetism.” Clint casually dropped his arm back to the wall behind Phil. His arm was so close, Phil could almost lean his cheek on it if he wanted to (which he did, but he was manfully resisting since it would have been really inappropriate). 

“It’s like every cell in your body has been attuned to the other person. They’ve become the North Pole to your compass, drawing every last bit of you closer to them,” Clint was whispering now, his voice a sensual caress and Phil couldn’t help the minute shudder that ran though him.

A countdown started across the courtyard. Could it really be midnight already? How on earth could five minutes have passed so quickly? Phil looked at his watch again just to be sure. Less than 20 seconds to midnight. 

When he looked up again Clint was way too close. Certainly closer than Phil recalled him being, but his eyes were unbearably gorgeous, piercing straight into the very depths of Phil’s soul. Phil couldn’t help but wondering what Clint could see there. And it must have been his imagination, but it seemed like Clint was getting closer still. 

Phil swayed back, trying to avoid the almost irresistible temptation that Clint offered, only to discover that his back was already flush to the wall and Clint was still getting closer. The arm Clint had braced on the bricks beside Phil’s ear was bending more and more, his ridiculous bicep bulging, showing even through the thick fabric of his coat. 

A cheer went up and Phil choked out a raspy, “Happy New Year,” into the charged air between them. 

Clint’s reply was warm and sure and most overwhelmingly of all, simple, “Phil.” Clint’s whisper of his name name seemed to fill the diminishing air between them, making the space seem small and cozy and right. 

“Phil,” Clint breathed again and Phil felt his eyes flutter closed without consulting his brain. He could feel Clint’s warm breath caressing his lips. This was actually going to happen, it was actually happening and Phil wanted it so badly he couldn’t bring himself to stop it, in spite of the fact that he really should with all his lies scattered between them. 

“Hey Phil,” it was Eddie’s voice that broke the trance Phil had been in, causing him to snap his eyes open. 

“Is this guy botherin’ you, Phil?” Eddie called, walking closer to them. 

“Oh, no,” Phil gasped out, displeased that his voice sounded so wrecked. If Clint’s mere proximity could do that to him, Phil could only imagine how devastating kissing him would be. 

But clearly that was no longer a possibility, since Clint was pushing off the wall and moving away from Phil, turning toward Eddie with a harsh look on his face, his hands starting to ball into fists. 

“Cause it looked like this guy was leanin’, so if ya want any help just holler.” 

It was, Phil supposed, surprisingly nice of Eddie to bother himself with Phil’s well being. But seriously, what was up with the ‘leaning’ thing? Had Phil just missed the portion of life where that’s a thing and people ‘lean’ at you? Although, at least now, with proper context, Phil was able to see why Clint had been worried Eddie was potentially leaning at him. 

And while Phil was fairly sure Eddie had not in fact been leaning earlier, he had no doubt at all that Clint had just been leaning up a veritable storm all over him. His body was still tingling with the leftover effects of Clint’s nearness; it really had been like his whole body wanted nothing more than to be near Clint. 

Magnetism didn’t even begin to cover the wanting and accepting he’d been doing, it was far more potent and far more dangerous. It was love. Every bit of him was in love with Clint and desperate to be as close to him as possible. 

Phil looked at the ground in despair; he was so fucked. Because he couldn’t have it, he couldn’t lean with Clint for so many reasons. Starting with Clint thinking he was engaged to one of his teammates and going downhill from there. 

Eddie wandered back to the crowd with a wave at Phil and Clint stuffed his hands into his pockets, refusing to meet Phil’s eyes in favor of studying the intensely interesting sidewalk beneath his boots. 

“Happy New Year, Phil,” Clint said, never even glancing Phil’s way as he turned and shuffled back to the car. Phil watched until Clint opened the car door and was surprised when Clint turned back to look at him and make shooing motions clearly intending for Phil to go inside. 

So Phil let himself into the entry and laboriously made his way upstairs and into his apartment. Flipping on the living room lights, Phil walked to the window hoping to catch a glimpse of the car disappearing, but Clint surprised him again, by still being there in the cold, standing next to the car, sharp eyes keeping watch. 

And Phil could feel it - the physical weight of Clint’s gaze coming to rest on him, making him feel safe and secure in his home. Then it was over as Clint waved briefly and ducked into the car. Phil drew the curtains as the car pulled away from the curb. 

What a way to start the New Year. Phil limped over to Frisky’s tank and dropped a few fish flakes in. 

“What am I doing?” Phil asked, his voice forlorn. Frisky ignored his question in favor of eating his belated dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil looked up to discover a very shirtless and, more importantly, a very awake Captain America.

Phil spent New Years Day at home, having his own mini-Star Wars marathon, which he was considering a present to himself for the entirety of the lemon juice debacle. He may have also talked to Clint on the phone for what was definitely not an hour about his opinions on the Empire Strikes Back. He also definitely did not dream about Clint’s warm laugh and burning hands while he slept that night. 

On the second, Skye asked him to hang out with her, so he took the train to meet her at MOMA. They spent the day limping around the museum and resting on every bench in the entire place while Phil tried to understand why Skye actually liked some of the more esoteric pieces. In spite of all the sitting, Phil’s leg felt like painful jello again by the time he returned home, but he also felt relaxed like he couldn’t remember being in a long time. Spending the day just hanging out with a friend was an indulgence he hadn’t allowed himself in years. 

On Monday morning, Phil had just gotten off the elevator at the hospital, with the half-hearted intention of spending 10 minutes answering emails while pretending to stare dreamily at his fiancé, when he was practically run over by an overeager Thor.

“Son of Coul, hurry along, we must make haste!” Thor boomed, grabbing Phil’s arm and towing him along haphazardly in his wake. 

“What’s going on?” Phil asked, desperately trying to keep up as his leg twinged worryingly after each over large step.

Thor didn’t reply, only gave Phil what was a completely ridiculous smile and ushered him into Steve’s room, their apparent destination. The room was already filled to capacity with a large number of people including what looked like half the floors medical staff and the Avengers. 

“Look who it is!” Tony exclaimed. And Phil suddenly had a sinking feeling that he knew what was happening. But by that point it was too late to make his escape. He was already being swept up to the bed, propelled by the implacable might of Thor. 

Phil was shoved up so close to the bed that honestly he wouldn’t have been much closer if he simply climbed in. Grabbing the side rail to steady himself, Phil looked up to discover a very shirtless and, more importantly, a very awake Captain America. 

Shit. 

Also, holy shit. 

Phil was in an almost indescribable amount of trouble. Fury was there, standing on the other side of the bed, shaking his head imperceptibly, letting Phil know (what he’d already guessed) that the good Captain had yet to be informed of his supposed ‘engagement’ to … well, to an idiot from the SHIELD copy pool. 

“Oh good,” Pepper said, smiling brightly down at the Captain’s wan face, “See, Phil’s here now, Steve, so you can relax and let the doctors examine you.”

Captain America looked at Phil with an air of utter bewilderment. Phil couldn’t blame him; Phil’s unassuming presence was not something that anyone would ever consider as reassuring or relaxing. 

The Captain turned his confused eyes away from Phil and back to Pepper. 

“Sorry, but who is he?”

And the jig was most decidedly up. Not much Phil could do to rescue this now. It had been a stupid plan from the beginning and he tried to remind himself that he’d always known it would end in tears. 

Tony clapped Phil on the shoulder and laughed. “Oh, don’t be shy Stevie, the cat’s already out of the bag, literally, now that Merida is taking care of Fluffums. We all know that Phil here is your fiancé.”

The Captain looked at Phil and Phil could only imagine how horrified he must be to hear that he’s supposedly engaged to a plain balding nobody like Phil. 

“Tony …” the Captain said slowly, “I … I don’t think I know this man. And I definitely don’t have a fiancé.” 

A strange hush fell over the room and Phil tried to think of something he could say, but all he could think about was the ice-cold knot of fear in his chest that whispered he was never going to see Clint again. 

Fury, however, was more on the ball in the plan department. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Fury shouted, throwing his arms up in frustration, “That is just what we need. I cannot fucking believe that Captain America has gone and gotten himself motherfucking amnesia. Somebody get me a goddamn neurologist and a psychiatrist in here ASAP!” 

Gasps rang out around the room and Thor shouted “Amnesia!” loud enough to be heard in New Jersey.

At this point, Phil realized he should probably contribute something to the conversation. Perhaps weep over his poor amnesiac fiancé or something else equally romantic. Fury was giving him a pointed look that Phil was completely failing to interpret, his mind still mostly caught up in the anguished thought of losing Clint forever. 

So Phil did what any sensible person would do to buy for time, he gasped loudly, dropped his cane, let go of the side rail to clutch his leg and then allowed gravity to drag him to the ground. 

The plan mostly worked, except that Clint interrupted his less than graceful journey to the floor. Phil had barely even started to fall when suddenly Clint’s arms were around him. It was like the icy evening in his courtyard all over again, the feeling of safety, of comfort all came rushing back with Clint’s gentle touch – the main difference was probably that they were surrounded by people here (including Phil’s fake fiancé), so Phil really couldn’t allow himself to enjoy the moment.

Phil gave a fairly realistic pained groan, although his pain was primarily psychological at the moment, and whimpered bravely, “My leg. Something’s wrong.” 

“Get him to another room now,” Fury bellowed and without any further ado Clint slung Phil up into his arms bridal style and whisked them out into the hall. 

Phil clutched one of his hands to Clint’s shoulders and let his head fall to rest in the crook of Clint’s neck. He knew he shouldn’t, god did he know he shouldn’t. But it was so warm and it smelled like Clint, clean and good. Phil heard himself whimper, and was astonished to realize there were real tears gathering in his eyes. When had he become so weak? 

Phil knew that the answer was probably around the time when he’d fallen stupidly in love with a man he could never have. And right now it felt like ice had spread from his chest to encompass his whole body, leaving him frozen and alone, kept whole only by Clint’s gentle hands holding him together. 

Of course he was having trouble fighting back tears, he was turning into nothing more than a frozen shell because he knew that he would never get this again. He would never get to be this close to Clint again; it was over. Fury had bought time with the amnesia cover, but that could only last so long. Now that the Captain was awake the truth obviously needed to come out.

Phil finally realized that Clint was murmuring to him, his lips brushing Phil’s hair. “It’s ok, it’s ok,” he was repeating, “I’ve got you, it’s ok.” 

Phil hand clutched at his shoulder again and a tear actually leaked out to trail down his cheek to his extreme embarrassment. Clint carefully navigated them through a doorway and gently lowered Phil to the bed pulling back, but carefully keeping his hands on Phil.

“It’s ok,” Clint whispered again, brushing at Phil’s cheek, wiping away the pathetic tear hanging there. Phil felt horrifyingly ashamed. Here he was crying because he knew that Clint was going to leave for good and Clint was fucking comforting him, not knowing what truths would soon be revealed. That gave Phil the wherewithal to push Clint’s hand away. Using his own hand to dash the tears from his eyes instead. 

“I, I’m fine,” Phil gasped, his voice seemingly out of his control, sounding far too affected for Phil’s comfort. 

Clint grabbed Phil’s free hand. “You’re not fine,” he said, “But it’s going to be ok. I’m here, and Steve is awake, it’s just a matter of time before he remembers you. I promise,” Clint tenderly ran a hand down the side of Phil’s face, leaning closer, “I promise that no matter what I’ll make sure it’s ok.”

Jesus, Phil felt like he was dying. Like he was shattering into a thousand pieces of ice all at once. Luckily, Dr. Streiten chose that moment to bustle in.

“Alright,” Streiten said, “Let’s get a look at that leg. I understand from Agent Romanov that you’ve been drastically reducing use of your cane and also had an incident on New Year’s Eve where you were knocked off of your feet.” 

“What?” Phil said, scrambling to re-order his thoughts into coherence.

“You’ll have to leave, Agent Barton,” Streiten said, “I need to look at his leg, which I’m afraid means we’re going to have to take your pants off, Liaison Coulson.” Streiten got out a huge pair of surgical scissors and Phil realized he intended to cut them off. 

“These are my favorite pants,” Phil blurted out. In reality after losing the pair to the Christmas attack, he couldn’t afford (for the sake of both money and hygiene) to lose any more of his pants, so they were all sort of default favorites now.

“Doc, I can help Phil get out of his pants, so you don’t have to cut them off,” Clint offered, and Phil suddenly found himself 100% behind the cutting off his pants plan. Letting Clint take off his pants would be a very bad idea on so very many levels. Phil would be fine with only one good pair of work pants, really he would, he’d just recommission some of the ones he’d deemed to shabby. 

Streiten, on the other hand, did not seem to mind, easily discarding the scissors in favor of Clint’s help. 

“Is it alright? You know … if I help you take off your pants?” Clint asked, only shooting a quick glance into Phil’s eyes before studiously examining the sheets while the most beautiful blush spread over his cheekbones. Phil was instantly smitten with that blush and wanted to see it as often as possible. Phil was also choosing to blame the blush for why he found himself nodding and agreeing to let Clint help him.

First Clint took off his shoes, which wasn’t so bad. And it felt nice to have Clint’s warm hands so carefully taking care of him. It reminded him of their first meeting where Clint had put Phil’s shoes on, and Phil, all unknowing, had started falling into love. 

Phil almost blurted out stop, which Clint’s hands landed on his belt, but he stopped himself, instead reaching down to undo the buckle himself. His mind was trying to take this to a highly inappropriate place and Phil was very worried that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from getting an erection, especially when Clint’s hand brushed along the front of his boxers as he pulled down the zipper. Phil found himself quivering, unable to stop, wanting to just throw aside pretense and beg Clint to touch him anywhere, anywhere at all, but to just please touch him. 

Luckily, Clint misinterpreted the shivers, “It’s ok,” Clint said, looking into Phil’s eyes. “It’s going to hurt a bit, but it’s almost over.”

Clint asked Streiten for help, as he lifted Phil slightly off the mattress, allowing Streiten to tug Phil’s pants all the way down, leaving him sitting there in his boxers and thanking his lucky stars that the reminder of Streiten’s presence was working to quell his amorous thoughts. Phil was mostly still concentrating all his will power on thinking un-sexy thoughts in an effort to keep his cock quiescent when Clint cursing loudly drew his attention. 

Clint was looking at Phil’s leg and his face had a tight pinched look to it, as though something was upsetting him very much. 

“Goddamnit, Phil,” he bit out, “Why the hell didn’t you say something sooner?” 

Confused Phil looked down at his leg. It looked pretty much like it had looked for the past few days. The epic bruise encompassing most of his thigh was a bit bigger than the outline he’d made on New Years, but that had been happening for the past week and Phil was pretty sure it wasn’t abnormal. He’d read the WebMD page on bruises after initially discovering it was growing and apparently they could grow for days after acquiring them. 

“Please, please tell me you did not trace the outline of the bruise to see if it was getting bigger and then not come to medical when it turned out it was,” Clint was growling now, looking seriously pissed. 

Phil looked at it. You could see where he’d traced it in permanent marker 3 times, each progressively larger. 

Streiten was now standing next to Clint and leaning closer to gently probe the periphery of the bruise.

“It’s normal for bruises to get bigger. I just wanted a reference point to confirm it was growing,” Phil told Clint, hoping to calm him down. 

“It looks like there’s a fucking bull’s-eye on your leg, Phil,” Clint gritted out, remarkably understandable given how tightly he had his teeth clenched. 

“Liaison Coulson is right that bruises grow,” Streiten said, distractedly pulling back the small bandage over the bullet wound to examine the dissolving stitches, “But if he’d come in we could have advised him to ice the bruise, which would have been helpful in preventing it from getting this large.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Phil told Clint, “Honestly it’s hardly bothering me at all. And I managed without the cane just fine on New Year’s Eve.” 

“And yet you just collapsed in pain,” Clint snarled, his eyes getting a slightly crazy glint in them. 

Right, Phil had almost forgotten about that. Shit. This was not good.

“I lost my hold on the cane, and I’d obviously just had a rather severe shock. Otherwise I’d have been fine.” It sounded weak even to Phil.

Streiten straightened up and pulled a sheet up over Phil’s legs before taking off his gloves. “You’ll have to ice it and I want you off of it for the rest of the day. So I’m afraid that means a wheelchair, but you can go back to the cane and intermittent icing tomorrow. And do try to keep it elevated. I know you’re used to taking care of other people, Liaison, but given that you’re currently recovering from a bullet wound so lets try to practice a little self-care.”

“It’s really fine,” Phil tried to say, but was cut off by Clint. 

“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll make sure he follows your instructions,” Clint glared at Phil, “And I’ll get Skye and Trip to help me, so he won’t be able to ignore them.” 

Dear god, it was like the Epi-pen incident all over again. Apparently he’d inadvertently acquired a triumvirate of over-zealous protectors. At least this time they weren’t trying to protect him from something fictional, only something over-exaggerated. Phil sighed. 

“Ok,” he agreed meekly, recognizing there wasn’t a way out of this situation for the moment, “Can I put my pants back on?” 

“You can put on some very loose scrubs since they’ll have to fit over the ice pack” Strieten said, “I’ll go fetch them. Agent Barton can hang onto your pants for the time being.” 

As Streiten left the room, Skye peaked in, looking worried. “Hey,” she said, glancing quickly between Clint’s highly pissed off face and Phil.

“Maria called me,” she said, coming further into the room, “She said the Captain has amnesia. I’m so sorry, Phil. This must be really awful for you.” Phil had to hand it to her. She really was a good actress. Hill had probably ordered her over to the hospital wing to shore up Phil’s rather precarious fiancé position, which was not a bad idea given how Phil was flaming out left and right here. 

“And if that weren’t enough, he’s also managed to hurt his leg again,” Clint scowled, crossing his arms. Phil really wanted to argue that it wasn’t ‘again’ as it was the same injury, but he doubted Clint would take that well. 

“Oh no, LC!” Skye said in tones of honest dismay, “You are one hot mess. But don’t worry! I’m happy to help you out. Do you want me to bring you some work from the office?” 

Phil shook his head. “Strieten said I could leave, I just have to sit down all day.” 

“He can leave in a wheelchair,” Clint emphasized, giving Skye a significant look. 

“Right you are, Agent Barton,” she said, tapping the side of her nose, “I’ll go find one. Be back in a minute.” 

Streiten returned with the scrub pants and a recirculating ice pack. After strapping the pack to Phil’s thigh, he kindly agreed that Phil could try to put the scrubs on without assistance since they weren’t very complicated. It turned out that getting them over the ice pack and it’s associated tubing without his cane wasn’t trivial, so Clint uttering a cry of exasperation came over and efficiently pantsed Phil with hands so brisk that Phil didn’t even have time to think inappropriate thoughts. It was both convenient and disappointing. 

Streiten turned on the ice pack and showed Clint where to put in the ice to make sure the circulating water stayed cold. Phil started shivering, not from arousal this time, but because the cold starting to seep into his leg. It was freezing; although he had to admit the numbing affect was going to be a true mercy. It would be nice not to feel the ache in his leg for a little while. 

Clint, still moving with tight angry efficiency, stripped off his jacket and dropped it over Phil’s shoulders. Although his hands did seem to linger as they smoothed it over his back, making sure that Phil was covered. Phil gave into temptation and let his head drop, so he could rest his cheek on the leather and take a deep breath, allowing Clint’s scent and residual warmth to buoy him for a moment. 

Skye chose that moment to reappear with Bruce in tow. 

“Phil, I’m so sorry to do this, but we want you to come see Steve again. The neurologist wants to see if we can jog his memory. I know it must be painful to see him without his memory, but this could help.” Bruce gave Phil a painfully earnest look and Phil had a feeling that no one could resist that look.

For obvious reasons, Phil doubted his presence would be helpful with regards to memory jogging, but he graciously agreed anyway, hoping his reluctance was reading as distraught fiancé and not distraught fake fiancé. With Skye’s help, Phil got into the wheelchair and Strieten placed the circulator on Phil’s lap. 

“It’s on battery power, now,” Strieten warned him, “But you should plug it in when you have the opportunity to keep it charged.” 

Skye looked at it curiously before Clint took it upon himself to explain its use and tell her she had better keep an eye on it and Phil both. It was nice to know that Clint still cared even though he was clearly upset. And he didn’t appear to be planning to take back his jacket, which felt telling. If he was truly angry, he wouldn’t care about Phil’s comfort. No, the real anger would come later, so Phil should enjoy the jacket now while he could. Perhaps this was even for the best. If Clint was already upset, the truth might be easier for him to process. 

As Skye wheeled Phil back to the Captain’s room, Phil felt worse and worse. The Captain must feel like he was losing his mind right now and it was Phil’s fault. Well, and Fury’s fault, but mostly Phil’s. After all, the lie had started with him, no matter how inadvertent it was. 

Bruce preceded them into the room where the Captain was randomly reciting his old locker number and his ID codes, sounding lost. Fury was still looming in the corner with his arms crossed. Phil could tell just by looking at him that he hadn’t gotten an opportunity to speak with Steve about the engagement. Phil could also tell from the glare he was given, that he had best keep his fake fiancé-ing up or there would be hell to pay. 

“Steve,” Natasha said her voice uncharacteristically gentle, “This is Phil Coulson. Do you remember anything at all when you look at him?” 

The Captain stopped his recitations to look closely at Phil. “Maybe?” he said, “I mean, he kind of looks familiar. Like I’ve possibly seen him before.” It was definitely possible the Captain had seen him around SHIELD a couple of times, even if he hadn’t realized it at the time. Unfortunately the doctors and the Avengers didn’t know what a reasonable response that was.

“Anything coming back at all about the attack? Do you remember Phil being there and saving your life?” Fury asked, his eyes trained on Phil as he spoke. Phil realized the implication immediately. The Captain really did have some amnesia if he couldn’t remember the attack, which was providing an excellent cover for the lie about their engagement. 

“I’m sorry,” the Captain said, sounding upset. He was staring at Phil like he was trying to dissect him in his head. Probably trying to figure out what had possessed him to propose to a man like Phil in the first place. 

“Ok,” Bruce said, “I think that’s enough for now. Steve needs rest. We’ll all come back later and Phil too.” 

Steve just nodded, looking lost as he leaned back against his pillows. 

“Goodbye,” Phil said, addressing everyone in the room, but looking at Clint. This may well be the last time he would ever see any of them, it seemed important to leave properly. There was a chorus of goodbyes in return and admonitions to take care of himself. Clint actually unbent his anger enough to drop a reassuring hand on Phil’s shoulder and squeeze it as he headed past Phil to the stairs. 

Then Skye had Phil safely wheeled away and into the elevator. They were both quiet during the whole trip to his office. Once they were inside Skye shut the door behind them. 

“What do you think will happen now?” She asked. 

“I don’t know,” Phil replied, “I really don’t know. I think Fury will have to tell them the truth, but I don’t know how he’ll do it. It’s probably best that I stay away. And, of course, this means I won’t be Liaison for much longer. I still have 2 boxes of paperwork to get through, so I guess I’ll work on that for as long as I can.” 

Skye looked at Phil worriedly. “Ok. I’ll go ask Maria if she has any idea what Fury’s planning. I know you were the one who said this was going to blow up in our faces, but I don’t think I really believed it. But …” 

“Things are different now,” Phil finished for her, “Everything changed the moment he woke up.”

Skye nodded and left, shooting Phil one last concerned look. 

Phil sighed and reluctantly pulled Clint’s jacket off. He meant to lay it on the couch to return later, but instead he found himself slipping off his suit jacket and putting Clint’s jacket in its place. Phil let his fingers rub at the flannel lining before grabbing the collar and burying his nose in it. It smelled like Clint. It smelled like the kind of home Phil had been dreaming of for his entire life. 

Grabbing his wheels, Phil pushed himself over to the wall and plugged in the recirculator before wheeling closer to his desk and setting it on the floor. The tubes connecting him to the reservoir were fairly long, but that didn’t seem to make them any less inconvenient. 

Trip knocked briefly and stuck his head through the door. “Hey boss, I like the new wheels.”

“What did Skye tell you to do?” Phil asked, grabbing the nearest stack of paperwork and wishing his desk was slightly shorter in proportion to the wheelchair.

“Skye is innocent for once. Agent Barton has been blowing up my phone demanding to know if you have your leg elevated.”

Phil tried to tamp down the happiness that warmed his chest knowing that Clint was thinking about his wellbeing. Then Phil realized he was quite obviously wearing Clint’s jacket in front of Trip and he had to force himself not to blush at the possible implications Trip was likely inferring. 

“Maybe we could prop your leg on the desk chair?” Trip suggested hesitantly, gesturing at the chair Phil had shoved out of the way. 

Phil dropped his hand down to feel the cold emanating from his thigh. It really did feel amazing; he probably would be forced to admit that that icing it was a good idea. The elevating might work too, so Phil nodded at Trip. 

In spite of Trip’s eagerness to help, Phil insisted on lifting his own leg up onto the chair.

“It’s not like I can’t walk without the wheelchair,” Phil found himself explaining, “It’s just supposed to help get the bruising under control.” 

“Those doctors,” Trip agreed, gamely, “Always trying to control shit. But now your leg is up, so I can get Barton off my back. And if you want help with the recirculator let me know.”

“Help?” Phil asked. 

“Yeah, I’m very experienced with those things, had one after my accident. I can even unhook the tubes without spewing water everywhere. And now the chance to showcase my expertise has finally arrived!” Trip laughed, striking a heroic pose. 

Phil laughed with him. “I’ll probably take you up on that, this thing is very unwieldy.”

“Don’t I know,” Trip agreed before returning to his desk still laughing. That alone lifted Phil’s dismal spirits a little. He shouldn’t forget how many good people he’d met due to his charade. And it wasn’t impossible that he’d get to keep a few of them as friends when the truth was revealed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m glad you have someone like Steve. And I’m glad you don’t have to be alone. And most of all I’m glad that you have all of us now," Clint's voice broke on the last bit, “And I’m glad that I have you."

Around lunchtime Phil heard a soft noise from the air vent above his desk. Phil’s eyes darted up to it and he almost went for the gun he’d hidden in his desk before he recognized the hazel eyes staring at him through the grating. 

“Do you want to come in?” Phil asked the vent. 

There wasn’t a response, but the grate shifted and a lithe body flipped through, flawlessly replacing the grate as he went. Landing on his feet in front of Phil’s desk, Clint stood up. Phil spent a rather long moment basking in his presence before remembering that while he’d tucked his own blazer over his thighs, trying to keep some semblance of warmth going, he was still wearing the damn jacket. Phil promptly felt his ears begin to burn. 

But Clint wasn’t really looking at him. He was doing that thing where he looked everywhere, except at Phil, which was a small mercy. 

“I’m sorry,” Clint blurted out, “I shouldn’t have been mad earlier. I was just worried and it’s easier to be mad then admit you’re scared.” 

That had not been what Phil was expecting. 

“Clint,” Phil started, not really knowing what to say to that. Just knowing that Clint had been scared for him was heady and heart warming. 

“You’re my friend,” Clint interrupted, “I know we haven’t known each other long, but you’re a really good friend. And I don’t mean this to sound rude, but when I met you I didn’t think you were Steve’s type.” 

Phil didn’t know what to say to that. He was elated that Clint thought they were friends, but he had no idea what to do with the comment about Steve’s ‘type.’ Particularly considering that being the ‘type’ of guy the Captain was interested in would no longer matter in the near future. 

Clint pressed on without waiting for Phil to respond. “I realize now that all that ‘type’ stuff doesn’t matter. What matters is that you guys make a terrific couple. And that I’m glad you have someone like Steve. And I’m glad you don’t have to be alone. And most of all I’m glad that you have all of us now.” Clint wiped a hand at his face trying to regain composure. 

“And I’m glad that I have you,” Clint’s voice broke on the last bit.

Phil felt like his stomach was dropping out of his body while his heart headed for the sky above. His entire body pulled in opposing directions by how much he felt for Clint. By how much he wanted to say that what he was glad about wasn’t Steve at all, but Clint. Always Clint. 

“I’m so grateful to have you in my life too, Clint,” Phil finally managed to choke out. For once not feeling embarrassed about the emotions coloring his voice. It felt like he was being more honest than he’d been in years, since before his father died at least. “And I consider you to be a very good friend. I can’t imagine not knowing you.” 

That last bit was far too honest and Phil felt himself jolt back to the reality where he couldn’t say things like that. But it felt like it was worth it, for the look of wonder Clint was giving him. A small smile gracing his mouth as he looked at Phil like he was the precious one and not the worthless pencil pusher he’d started to believe he would always be. 

Phil dropped his eyes to his lap, unable to bear that look for long, not when he didn’t deserve it. 

“So,” Clint said, clearing his throat loudly and then coughing, “I was actually coming to take you to lunch. Get your mind off things with Steve.”

“And make sure I don’t stand up,” Phil added wryly, falling back on his deadpan humor to shore up the holes in his emotional walls. 

“Well, that too,” Clint conceded, “I also needed to make sure Trip wasn’t lying about your leg being elevated.”

Phil raised his eyebrow and gestured at his leg sticking awkwardly out to rest on the desk chair. 

“Not that I doubted Trip. He’s been doing a pretty good job of looking after you so far. Of course,” Clint continued, “It’s about time to replace the ice water too. And I wanted to make sure you weren’t getting cold with the ice pack. This is a many pronged operation.”

Phil obligingly laughed at the operations joke, touched by Clint’s care. Wishing he had some way to reciprocate, to make Clint feel as loved as Phil felt right now. Loved by Clint. Phil had to remind himself again it was a pipe dream. Why couldn’t he just accept reality? 

“So what are we having for lunch?” Phil asked, moving their conversation back into safe territory. 

“Skye wants to go to the Thai place that’s two blocks from here,” Clint didn’t look very happy about it, “I wanted to stay here, so we could leave the ice pack on, but Skye made a good point about it being meatloaf day. Your leg might thank us, but your stomach would not.” 

“I get to take it off?” Phil asked, trying to keep his glee out of his voice. 

“Temporarily. And you stay in the wheelchair.”

Phil would take it. Clint even magnanimously allowed Phil to take the ice pack off himself, turning his back while Phil balanced on his desk, pushing down the flimsy scrubs, so he could remove the straps holding the ice pack to his thigh. Phil pushed at the purple skin revealed as he peeled the pack off, marveling at how cold it was and how he couldn’t even feel it hurting when he touched it. 

“Can I look at it?” Clint asked quietly, startling Phil with the scrubs still around his knees.

“What?”

“I want to see if the bruise looks better or worse since the morning,” Clint elaborated. Phil felt a fiery blush start to creep over his skin. How could this be real? How could his life really end up here with Clint Barton asking to look at him in his boxers? 

In a moment of pure defiance to what he knew was right, Phil answered, “Sure.” Phil regretted that word immediately and tried to will himself to be calm and above all to try not to be aroused. It wasn’t easy, not with just him and Clint in his office, no Streiten to jolt him back to reality and remind him what a bad idea that would be. 

Clint got closer to look at the bruise, squatting down to get on eye level with it (and presumably to test Phil’s ability to keep his mind out of the gutter (he was definitely not going to pass that test)). Looking up at Phil, Clint got permission to gently touch the edges of the purpled skin and Phil’s skin burst out in gooseflesh at the touch, even though he could barely feel it except for the blazing warmth against his cold skin. 

Phil felt his breath stutter in his chest as Clint all but caressed his skin with his thumb. What Phil couldn’t feel due to the icy numbness of his leg, his mind was more than happy to extrapolate, and an involuntary shudder wracked his frame. Clint wasn’t even looking at the bruise anymore, but up at Phil’s face with a furrowed brow. Which really was a relief since Phil was certain he’d lost enough blood to his dick to be partially tenting his boxers and Clint would be bound to notice. The world seemed to stop for a pulse pounding moment as their eyes met. But the charged moment must have been Phil’s imagination because Clint just let his hand drop back to his side and stood up. 

“It actually looks better,” Clint finally said, turning around to give Phil the privacy to pull the scrubs up one-handed, providing cover for his burgeoning erection. Phil sank back into the wheelchair trying to ignore how much he wanted Clint. He firmly reminded himself that this was a friend who was concerned for Phil’s wellbeing, and nothing more. And even that wasn’t likely to be true for too much longer. Phil was living on borrowed time at the moment and he could almost hear the clock ticking down to the Avengers learning the truth. That sobering thought was more than enough to kill any amorous thoughts that had been dancing through Phil’s brain.

Seeing that Phil had put himself back in the wheelchair Clint gave him a huge smile. The kind of smile that if applied on a regular basis would probably convince Phil to always follow the doctor’s orders. 

“Lets go,” Clint said, grabbing the handles of Phil’s wheelchair and popping Phil’s feet up into the air as he treated the wheelchair like a dolly. 

“This is not how wheelchairs work, Clint,” Phil said in exasperation, as Clint towed him out the door. 

Skye was standing next to Trip smiling at them and holding a giant purple fleece. Clint gently set Phil’s wheelchair correctly on the floor and grabbed the blanket from Skye, tucking it carefully around Phil’s legs. 

“We’re going outside,” Clint said, noticing Phil’s skeptical look, “It’s cold out.” Clint smoothed the fleece over Phil’s lap and smiled looking pleased with his work. “Luckily I had this in my on-base room.” 

Clint went to grab the wheelchair handles again, but Skye slid in front of him at the last moment. “I’m driving, Clint. We don’t want to stress LC out too much.” 

Conceding with a half-bow, Clint let Skye lead the way and push Phil out into the hallway. 

After lunch, Clint and Skye delivered Phil back to both his desk and his ice pack. While Skye went to get more ice, Phil (backed up by Trip) convinced Clint he could put the ice pack on top of his thin scrubs without too much of a difference. Well, it took a call to Streiten to entirely convince him that it might be an acceptable course of action, but Phil and Trip managed to convince him enough to make the call, so it seemed fair to take credit. 

By the time Skye came back with the ice everyone was more or less happy. Phil had not had to take off his pants, Trip had kindly brought everyone a cup of coffee, and Clint seemed satisfied that Phil’s leg had been elevated appropriately. 

Phil put his nose back to the grindstone after finishing his coffee, trying to plow through the paperwork backlog, but making little enough headway. It seemed increasingly unlikely that he would get the opportunity to finish all of this paperwork before being sent back to the copy pool. 

Over the next few hours there was an almost steady stream of visitors who were all ostensibly there to ‘check’ on Phil. They were all obviously there because news of the Captain’s amnesia had spread like wildfire through SHIELD and they were hoping to get the freshest gossip. Some of the visitors were people Phil didn’t even know, but who were clearly interested in seeing how he was bearing up under the weight of his fiancé’s amnesia (probably hoping to see him crying over his paperwork or something). Phil had never been so happy to disappoint a group of people by not only forbearing from sobbing into his coffee, but by being diligently at work on his giant stacks of paperwork like any other day in the office. 

Melinda stopped by bearing coffee from the shop down the street, which was of a much higher quality than the usual burnt stuff served in SHIELD break rooms. She didn’t say much. She mainly just sat across the desk and looked at Phil inscrutably while she drank her coffee. Her presence did conveniently keep anyone else from dropping in, since Trip was able to quite truthfully say that Phil was in a meeting.

Right before she left she leaned forward and said, “I know you aren’t actually engaged to Captain America, but I’m willing to play along, Phil. Just tell me that there’s a reason for it. That you aren’t having a psychotic break or becoming a compulsive liar.” 

Phil was often grateful that Melinda May was his friend and cube-mate, but today his thankfulness was passing all previous bounds. 

“There’s a reason,” Phil told her, “I can’t read you in on it, but it’s important. And I appreciate you having my back on this, even if I can’t tell you why. I … I don’t think you’re going to have to play along for very much longer.”

Melinda raised one of her eyebrows at that before standing up. “Well given that Captain America woke up from his coma today I imagine something will have to come to a head soon.” 

Phil suppressed a grimace and nodded at Melinda. “I’m sure you’re right, like always. So I guess I may be seeing you back in our cubicle before long.”

Melinda cast a look around the office and then landed her piercing gaze back on Phil, “Don’t be in too much of a hurry to get back. I like this office. It has a fern.”

“A dead fern!” Phil shouted at Melinda’s back, before giving the fern a dirty look. 

“I didn’t even want you,” he told it, pointing his pen at it before turning back to the file folder in front of him. 

Phil managed to file one whole set of mission reports before Trip rang him to let him know the Director was here to see him. Phil took a deep breath and contemplated removing the giant purple fleece Clint had left him or, indeed, the leather jacket he still had not parted with. Then he decided to hell with it, the Director wasn’t in any place to judge given the crap they’d been up to for the past week and a half. 

“Send him in,” Phil said, happy he sounded so calm and put together. If only he could transfer that calm to his inner self.

Fury swept into the office dramatically, not that he could really go anywhere un-dramatically with that ridiculous leather coat. Pausing to look at Phil for a long second, Fury dropped into one of the chairs facing Phil’s desk and let his shoulders slump a little. He looked human for the first time Phil could ever remember. It was honestly more disturbing than when he looked like he was planning the details of your very messy death. 

“I was hoping we’d have a couple more days before he woke up,” Fury said, breaking the silence. He put his hand to his chin, pensively looking at Phil.

The thought that had been occupying Phil since this whole lie began spilled out. “I don’t think I can tell them,” Phil confessed. “And I hate to ask, but do you think you could do it? That is, tell the Avengers the truth about me.”

Fury sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knees as he clasped his hands. “Yeah, you can leave that to me.” 

Phil cleared his throat, trying to prepare himself. “When will you tell them?” Dear God, Phil couldn’t even stand to think about it. They were going to hate him so much. Clint was going to hate him. Instinctively, Phil clutched at the jacket, pulling it closer around himself, trying to absorb the imprint of its owner into his skin. 

“About that,” Fury said and Phil had a sudden premonition that he was not going to like what Fury was about to say at all. “We’re not going to tell them yet. In fact, we’re not going to tell anyone … yet.” 

“And by anyone you mean …” Phil trailed off. Fury couldn’t mean what it sounded like he meant. Phil felt like a stone was settling in his stomach. It was one thing to lie to the Captain’s friends and family, but lying to the man himself that seemed infinitely worse. 

“We’re not going to tell the Captain until after we implement what I truly hope will be the last operation of our mole hunt,” Fury fixed his eye on Phil, pinning him in place. “The problem up until now has been lack of scale. Our most successful operation, the one that really helped narrow our suspect list, was the attack on Christmas. AD Hill and I have come to the realization that while HYDRA does want to kill the Captain, and you, by any means possible, they’d very much prefer to do it in a messy and public fashion.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you’re planning to give them that opportunity,” Phil said sarcastically.

“We just need to give them a target that is too good to pass up. Something they could never resist. Something that more than justifies the sacrifice of their mole in our organization” 

It dawned on Phil slowly - the horrible truth of what Fury must be planning creeping up on him like being drowned in implacable and unstoppable quicksand. 

“No,” Phil said, unable to stop the word from slipping out. 

“No, we can’t do that.” Phil could actually hear the desperation tingeing his voice. This was not good. 

“Would you rather we let this fucking mole stay in SHIELD and slowly take us down from the inside? You know what good work we do here Phil. Hell, you’ve probably seen reports from half the agents here and you know that they’re good people. Would you really leave them at the mercy of a mole? Would you really leave the Avengers at this mole’s mercy? Would you leave Hawkeye?”

Fury clearly knew more than Phil wanted him to about his feelings for a certain archer and it was a low blow to draw Clint into this. But, of course, it had Fury’s intended affect. There was no answer Phil could return except for that he would do anything to protect Hawkeye and from there it was only a short leap to SHIELD and what Fury wanted. Fury really was good at manipulating people. 

“You know I would never want anyone to be hurt. And that I’ll do whatever is required to help ensure that.” 

Fury gave Phil his favorite assessing look, “What I want right now, Coulson, is for you to have a giant wedding with every single mole suspect in attendance. What I want is for you to marry Captain America.” 

“And if that is what’s required, then that is what I’ll do it,” Phil said, trying to feel as confident as his words, “But we need to tell the Captain the truth.” 

Fury leaned back in his chair, clearly feeling more at ease now that Phil had agreed to his harebrained plan. “It’s complicated,” Fury said. 

“I don’t see why. The poor man probably thinks he’s losing his mind right now. The least we can do is tell him the truth.” 

“Being the only person in this room who actually knows the Captain,” Fury said, his voice harsh, “I’m making the executive decision that we won’t tell him. It would be a mistake and since my opinion is the only one that matters there really isn’t much more to say on the subject.”

Phil gave Fury an unimpressed look, which had absolutely zero effect that Phil could detect. Phil felt like he was standing on unsteady ground, but he knew that he couldn’t let that stop him. He had to keep trying for more than just the Captain’s sake, so he decided to try a different tack. “I feel like I should point out that it’s probably going to be rather difficult to convince him to, I don’t know, MARRY me when he has no idea who I am. However, if he knows it’s for an operation there’s no reason he wouldn’t agree.” 

Fury looked shifty for a second before settling back into relaxed inscrutability. “If my plan to get him to re-propose to you doesn’t work, then I will consider reading him in on the operation. But right now our focus needs to be on speed and believability. For the next few days the Captain will be under a microscope in the hospital wing and we simply can’t risk any information getting out or him unwittingly revealing something.”

“So we’ll tell him after he’s out of the hospital?” Phil asked hopefully.

“I want you to get married in the hospital chapel,” Fury said, destroying Phil’s moment of relief. “In fact, if I play my cards right, you’ll be getting married in the next three days.”

“Three days,” Phil echoed quietly. His mind was racing, but there didn’t seem to be a single coherent thought in the mess. What he really wanted to do was crawl under his desk and stay there until either Fury went away or Clint came to get him. Pipe dream, Phil reminded himself brutally. 

He couldn’t have Clint, but he could help make sure that Clint was protected. If the mole could orchestrate a huge attack like the one on Christmas, then the mole was a risk to everyone here. From Skye to Trip to Fitz and Simmons to the Avengers to Pepper … but most of all, to Clint. And that was unacceptable. Phil wouldn’t … couldn’t allow that. 

If Fury and AD Hill thought convincing an amnesiac Captain America to marry him would protect all of those people, Phil didn’t really have a choice. He had to help them, since without him, the wayward fiancé, their plan would fall apart. 

Phil looked at Fury to find he still had Phil fixed in his unnerving stare. “You’re really sure that not telling him is for the best? You’re really sure that you can convince him to marry me?”

Fury smirked, “I’m sure. I’m also sure that convincing him is going to be a cakewalk. The speed is the only issue we’re going to have. But I’m confident that I can also convince Steve that an immediate wedding is the best option.” 

“It’s … it’s going to have to be a ‘real’ wedding isn’t it?” 

“Given that we’re planning to put all of our eggs in this basket, it would be pretty fucking stupid to betray our plan by having a fake minister. So, yeah, it’s going to be a real ass wedding.”

Phil gave Fury a stricken look. “I don’t want to marry Captain America.”

“That is without a doubt one of the stupider things I’ve heard today. Everyone wants to marry Captain America. Hell, I want to fucking marry Captain America. They don’t make men like Steve Rogers anymore, Coulson. He’s a stand up guy and you could do a lot worse than marrying someone like him.”

“No, I mean … look, if this is a real wedding, where we are being really married, then what happens if HYDRA doesn’t attack? We’d actually be married! And that is not ok. He can’t give real consent and, again, I don’t want to marry Captain America.” 

“Why not?” Fury was looking at Phil like he had lost his mind (which Phil was starting to think was actually a distinct and not at all unlikely possibility). “You wanted to marry Captain America last week. You forget, I heard you talking to Skye, this is your dream come true.” 

“Not anymore! Not like this!” Phil found himself standing up from his wheelchair, shouting at the top of his lungs. He hadn’t been able to control himself this time, the feelings welling up in him were unstoppable. It felt like his heart was spilling out onto his desk for Fury to see. 

Phil felt cold touching his socked feet and looked over to realize his movement had knocked the ice bath onto the floor and water was seeping over the rug. 

“Shit,” he muttered. Everything was so fucked up and this was just the cherry on top. 

“I’ll need to work on the Captain for a little while to get him into the right frame of mind, so you’re off the hook for the rest of the day, Coulson. But I’ll expect you to be there to visit him tomorrow. And let me be clear,” Fury stood up, moving to stand by Phil’s desk on the opposite side, “If you fuck this up, it’ll be me you’ll answer to.” 

“Yes, sir,” Phil muttered. Sinking back into his wheelchair as Fury walked out the door.

In frustration, Phil slammed his fist into his desk. What was wrong with him? This was his dream come true. Two weeks ago it was. How could all of his dreams have been rewritten in such a short time? The problem was, of course, that Phil (and probably Fury) knew the answer to that riddle. 

Phil’s phone buzzed in his shirt pocket and he pulled it out to find that ‘Daisy’ had sent him a picture of Clint on the firing range. Clint had a gun pointed downrange at the target, while he looked over his shoulder at the camera, but he had his leg sitting awkwardly on a chair that had been dragged into the lane with him for some unknown reason. A new message appeared under the photo. 

“Someone wants to set a good example,” Skye wrote, “If he can elevate his leg and work, so can you!” 

Phil let out a weak chuckle. They were both too good for him. And here he was, leg definitely not elevated, ice pack now without any ice, he didn’t deserve to have them for friends. His chuckle turned into a hysterical laugh that he quickly quashed. He needed to get a hold of his emotions, he needed to compose himself and find a way to get back to his usual relaxed ‘take what you can get’ attitude. 

In a moment, he’d buzz Trip and get some help with the mess. In a moment, he’d remember that the superhero he was engaged to marry wasn’t even the one he was in love with. In a moment, he’d be back to being regular old Phil Coulson who was definitely not in love with Hawkeye. Because that wasn’t something Phil Coulson would do. And more to the point, that wasn’t something that Captain America’s fiancé would do.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We’re calling this Operation Stubborn Sloth. We even gave ourselves a Level 7 operational security rating! You’re very valuable, LC.”

At 6 pm, Skye showed up and with Trip’s skillful aiding and abetting, not only managed to extract Phil from his office and never ending mountain of paperwork, but also got all of them into a taxi. Phil tried to convince them that the wheelchair could really stay at the office with the recirculating ice pack, but he was overruled. 

Unlike Clint, they were both amenable to the idea that he could stand and they had even graciously conceded that it would make sense for him to walk up the stairs to his apartment. They were not so gracious that he was permitted to walk up those stairs without an arm over Trip’s shoulder supporting nearly all of the weight on his injured leg. 

“Even if you don’t need help, you should think about what would happen to us if Hawkeye found out that we’d let you hare off on your own to try and cripple yourself,” Trip told Phil as they stumped awkwardly up the stairs to his apartment. 

“He even said that we could be honorary Avengers as long as we did a good job looking after you!” Skye looked entirely too pleased with that idea, as she hauled the folded wheelchair up the steps behind them.

“If I were you, I would just be grateful that he had a SHIELD op tonight,” Trip said, “Otherwise you just know he’d be here trying to carry you up the stairs and giving you hell.” 

“Trust me,” Phil assured them, “I am thanking all my lucky stars for that small mercy.” 

Finally getting to the door, Phil unlocked it and before Trip could protest, hobbled his own way over to his living room. Sinking down onto his couch, Phil lifted his leg onto the coffee table. 

“Yes, yes,” Skye said, dropping the wheelchair next to the couch and patting Phil on the head absentmindedly, “You’re being very good about elevating. I’ll be sure to mention that in my report. Mind you, I’ll also have to mention the frequent attempts to run off without your wheelchair unless I see some significant improvement.”

“Please tell me you aren’t writing reports on me for Clint,” Phil said wearily, letting his head fall back on the couch.

“Well we’d hardly be good Avengers if we didn’t write reports, LC!” Skye exclaimed in a highly offended voice, as she dropped down beside Phil on the couch.

“Alright,” Trip said, reappearing from the kitchen, “You actually have food, so I’m going to make us spaghetti for dinner. Does anyone have objections?” 

“Does it count as an objection if we’d rather eat pizza?” Skye asked, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning on the TV.

“I’ll just go ahead and get started on the pasta then.” 

“I guess not,” Skye muttered, flipping channels until she landed on a Psych rerun. She shot a sidelong look at Phil and smiled really big. “Yes?” she asked, nodding her head. 

Phil shook his own head at her antics, but couldn’t help but agreeing that they definitely had to watch Psych, since it was making her so happy. Skye being happy actually made Phil happy, so even if he’d have preferred his trashy reality shows, well. Skye laughing and smiling beside him more than made up for it. 

Trip brought dinner out to them on the couch. He also brought an instant ice pack, which Phil was less thrilled about than the pasta. However, given that Trip had just made him dinner, Phil kept his opinions to himself and put the ice pack on his leg. Also, anything had to be better than that ice-water-filled ball and chain that was the recirculator.

After the episode finished Skye collected their dishes and brought them back to the kitchen. Phil could hear the water start to run as she shouted to ask if he had any rubber gloves. He did not, but when he tried to get up to go help, Skye appeared in the doorway coated in a rather liberal amount of soap bubbles to order him back to his seat. 

“Talk to Trip about your Captain America poster,” she said, pointing at the authentic war bonds poster hanging on the wall, “His grandfather actually knew the Captain during the war.” 

“Wait? Really?” Phil said, turning to look at Trip. 

“Yeah, man. I don’t talk about it, but my granddad was a Commando.”

“Your grandfather was a Howling Commando,” Phil echoed, “That is amazing. I need to know everything.” 

Trip laughed, “Man, you’re engaged to Captain America, he can probably tell you way more than I ever could.” 

That was a fair point. Phil had been so comfortable here in his apartment that he’d almost forgotten his stupid engagement. “Yes, but I have long suspected he’s having me on with some of his stories. External corroboration would be beneficial.”

“Unfortunately, we have to leave to get Skye back to base soon, but I will be happy to regale you with the stories my grandfather used to tell me sometime. In fact, I may even be willing to bring you some of the gadgets he left with my mother and I.” 

Phil nodded, “Yes, yes. I would like that.” 

Trip laughed, “Alright, then it’s a plan. I’ll see you tomorrow boss.” 

“Yes, we’ll see you tomorrow, LC. We’re picking you up!”

“I am allowed to walk with the cane tomorrow, I can just take a taxi,” Phil reminded them. Of course, he would probably just take the train, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

“We’ll be here at 8 am. If you are not here, we’ll be forced to take drastic action.”

“Drastic,” Skye echoed, “And you don’t want that.”

Phil looked at the two of them arrayed side by side with their arms crossed, looking like they were ready to take down any number of enemies, or one stupidly stubborn Liaison.

“Ok, ok, I’ll see you at 8,” Phil laughed, waving at them as they shut the door. He was lucky to have them. 

He was also getting less worried by the day that Skye would suddenly stop talking to him when he went back to the copy room. Trip, he was less sure about, but it seemed like they were on there way to becoming friends, and unlike the Avengers Trip wasn’t as tied up in the engagement lie. So maybe he wouldn’t take it as personally as the Avengers were bound to. Maybe. 

Unless, of course, it turned out that Trip was the mole after all, but Phil found that more doubtful by the day. Maybe that was reckless of him, but given his current engagement in a potentially life-endangering undercover operation, perhaps being a little reckless wasn’t his worst sin.

In the morning, when Phil examined his leg in the bathroom mirror, he was forced to admit that the bruise did actually look better. And while he had, of course, faked the whole collapsing in pain thing, it did actually feel a lot better today as well. Maybe he would keep icing and elevating it for the near future. Being able to use the cane instead of wheelchair today may also have been making him feel more magnanimous about doctors and their advice. 

Phil put on his last complete work appropriate suit and made a mental note to convince Clint to relinquish his pants when he returned the purple fleece and leather jacket. He had purposefully left both items at the office to make sure he didn’t do anything idiotic, like wrap himself up in the them and then in all likelihood get stupidly aroused. At the moment, the very least you could say about Phil was that he still had the human decency left to know he really couldn’t condone masturbating while wearing Clint’s jacket (no matter how tempting it was). 

Thinking about his pants reminded Phil that he still had a bag of the Captain’s personal belongings sitting in his hall closet. And returning the bag would be a great excuse to visit the Captain. As a bonus, it would provide Phil with something to hold onto, so his hands wouldn’t be visibly shaking. Fury may have ordered him to go visit, but at least he could do it on his own terms and with his own excuses. 

A knock on his door sounded at 7:55 am on the dot and Phil grabbed his briefcase, cane, coat, and bag of the Captain’s belongings before opening it to reveal Skye standing there, smiling broadly. 

“I’ve been authorized to inform you that if you don’t put up a fuss about the car, there is coffee in it for you.”

“No taxi?” Phil asked.

“It turns out Trip still actually has one of those agent licenses that lets you borrow cars from the motor pool for active ops. We’re calling this Operation Stubborn Sloth.”

Phil snorted out a laugh. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.” 

“Flattered, definitely flattered. We even gave ourselves a Level 7 operational security rating! You’re very valuable, LC.” 

Phil rolled his eyes as Skye scooted past him to grab the wheelchair from the front hall, leaving it out on the landing as Phil closed the door behind them. Skye hovered behind Phil on the stairs and a couple of times when he wobbled slightly Phil thought she was actually going to try and grab him by the back of his jacket. Thankfully she did not. By the time they’d made their slow way to the bottom of the stairs, though, Phil was forced to admit that the sloth might not be such an inaccurate animal avatar given his current speed. 

Trip was waiting in a black SUV parked at the curb and when he spotted Phil and Skye making their way down the icy sidewalk, he got out to come and offer Phil his arm. Phil eyed it with distaste, but Trip’s insufferable grin would be even worse if he tripped and fell on his ass, so Phil took the proffered arm. Having passed Phil off to her partner in crime, Skye ran back upstairs to grab the wheelchair.

“Where to, LC?” Trip asked, once they were all situated in the car and Phil had been presented with his cup of coffee, “The office?”

“No,” Phil said reluctantly, “You’d best take me to the hospital entrance.”

“It’s so good that you’re going to see him,” Skye said, leaning into the space between the driver’s seat and the passenger’s seats to look earnestly at Phil, “Maybe you’ll help jog his memory.” She really was a very good actress and if Phil ever needed one, she’d be the first person he’d call. 

“We’ll be at the hospital in no time.” Trip pulled out into traffic and proved himself to be a very deliberate and conscientious driver, conveying them to the SHIELD hospital with no dramatics, fanfare, or speeding. Phil highly approved, particularly considering how life-shortening Clint’s driving had been. It also made it very easy for Phil to drink his coffee without any mishaps, which he appreciated since it would have been a real shame to spill coffee all over his suit.

Trip pulled up to the hospital doors and Skye helped Phil out, handing him his cane and bag. She refused to relinquish his briefcase, insisting that she would deliver it to his office for him.

“You’ll be ok?” She asked. 

“The hospital is literally connected to SHIELD. I won’t even have to go outside to get to my office, so yes, I think I’ll be fine.” 

Skye looked askance at him, “I wasn’t talking about walking. Your fiancé was in a coma and now he has amnesia.”

Good point, Phil was definitely not ok due to any of those things. “It is what it is, Skye. So I’m accepting it and doing my best.” 

Skye pulled Phil into a tight hug. “That’s the spirit, LC. Everything will work out in the end.” 

Phil waved goodbye to Trip and slowly made his way through the doors and over to the elevator. His leg was definitely feeling better than it had two days ago and if he just walked slowly and deliberately with the cane as back up, you could hardly tell he had a limp at all. 

Really faking an exacerbated leg injury had been one of his more brilliant plans, if only because it actually ended up with him coming out ahead. Especially since it was pretty clear all of the other plans were going to end with Phil at the bottom of a very large pile of shit. Or, at least, one plan in particular that was definitely weighing heavily on his mind as he made his way through the floor to the Captain’s room. 

Which was empty. 

Phil looked around. This was definitely the correct room number and it was the proper floor, he recognized the floor nurse from his many trips up here. 

Doctor Streiten suddenly appeared at Phil’s side. “Since Captain Rogers is no longer in a coma, we went ahead and moved him into a lesser ward.” 

“That makes sense,” Phil agreed, “Could you give me the new room number, I was hoping to see him.” 

“Of course, Liaison Coulson, I’ll have the nurse get it for you. But while you’re up here tell me how your leg is doing.”

“It’s actually much better,” Phil admitted reluctantly, “Staying off of it yesterday and keeping it iced seems to have made a world of difference.”

“Good!” Streiten exclaimed, clapping his hands together once in satisfaction, “I’m glad that you’re on the mend again. Just remember to try and ice it a couple of times today.” 

“I could hardly forget with my crew of ice bearing harpies swooping in to harass me about elevating my leg every 10 minutes,” Phil joked easily. Even he could hear his fondness for his ‘harpies’ bleeding through every word. 

Getting the Captain’s new room number from the nurse, Phil took the elevator back down two floors and navigated his way toward the new room. When he arrived the door was partially open and while Phil couldn’t see the room’s occupants, he could hear the Captain speaking. 

He was about to knock and go in when he heard Clint’s voice. He must have just returned from his op and while Phil did desperately want to see him, he couldn’t stomach the idea of seeing Clint while his supposed fiancé was conscious in the same room. 

Phil knew that if he wasn’t going to go into the room then the right thing to do would be to go back down the hall and bide his time, but some part of him was too overwhelmingly curious. It was almost masochistic, the desire to hear what his old untouchable crush, who hadn’t even known his name, would say to his new untouchable way-more-than-a-crush, who definitely knew his name. 

“… don’t understand,” Phil heard Clint say as he inched closer to the door. 

“You’ve hit the jackpot here, Steve,” Phil could hear clearly now, the words all discernible, “Phil is one of the most amazing men I’ve ever met and I know you must have felt the same way when you met him.”

“I don’t remember,” the Captain said. Phil had to concede, as always, the Captain made a fair point.

“I’ve been getting to know him while you were in a coma and, Steve, trust me, this guy is one in a million. I don’t know how you always get so lucky, but you couldn’t find a better guy than Phil. And I know you don’t remember what it was like falling in love with him, but I guarantee it was fantastic and amazing and life affirming.”

There was a long pause before Clint continued speaking, his voice sounding a little gruffer than before, “And knowing he was falling in love with you in just the same way must have made everything in your life beautiful. So what if you don’t remember? Maybe you will, maybe you won’t, but if you let him get away you’ll be kicking yourself for the rest of your life for losing the perfect man.” 

Phil couldn’t listen anymore. He was already backing away before the thought even crossed his mind. His brain was in total conflict. He wanted to convince himself that Clint saying those words … that Clint talking about falling in love with him, wasn’t just a hypothetical for the Captain sake.

He wanted it to be real. He wanted to be the person who made everything in Clint’s life beautiful. He couldn’t help it. 

And what he wanted more than anything was to storm into that room and say, “Sorry, Captain, but the perfect man isn’t you and it isn’t me, it’s Clint.” 

Clint who was everything. Who was stubborn and caring. Who was scared and fearless. Who was loved and loving.

How could Phil not fall in love with him? How could anyone not want him in their life forever?

But, of course, Clint was saying these things to the Captain to support his friend, not because he’s felt these emotions himself. Clint was just trying to make everything ok between Phil and the Captain, like he’d promised Phil he would after the Captain woke up.

Phil kept backing up until he almost ran into the door of another hospital room. Fumbling with the handle as he pushed it open and practically fell into the thankfully empty room. 

Phil sank into the visitor’s chair and let his cane fall the floor as he cradled his head in his hands. He had fucked this up beyond all belief. 

Sitting there in the dark and quiet, Phil tried to empty his mind. To remind himself that this was a mission and he had to get his head in the game. 

He sat there for well over twenty minutes before his phone buzzed in his pocket. Phil pulled it out to see that Skye wanted to know if he needed help getting back to his office. Phil clicked off his phone without responding. He did want to go back to his office, but not yet. Not until he’d accomplished what he’d come here to do. 

Steeling himself, Phil grabbed the bag of the Captain’s belongings and his cane off the floor. Then levering himself out of the chair, he quietly reentered the hallway and approached the Captain’s room. 

Thankfully this time the door to the room stood fully open and the Captain was alone, sitting on his bed reading. And he was wearing a shirt, which was definitely beneficial for Phil’s equilibrium and would hopefully allow for an improvement over his performance last time. Pretending to collapse was probably not his finest hour of interpersonal communication. 

Phil tapped gently at the door to get the Captain’s attention. The Captain looked up from his book and a beautiful inviting smile spread over his face. Making him look even more attractive than his normal almost inhuman perfection.

“Phil!” The Captain exclaimed, looking happy as he set aside his book. “Please, come in. Sit down.” The Captain patted the bed next to his hip, clearly indicating he didn’t want Phil to sit in the visitor’s chair. 

Phil slowly made his way into the room, deliberately making sure not to limp. 

“I brought your things,” Phil said as he focused on carefully resting his hip on the side of the bed before handing the Captain the bag of his effects.

“Thank you!” The Captain said enthusiastically, emptying the bag on his lap and flipping through his sketchbook and wallet. “I really appreciate you holding on to these for me.” 

“No problem,” Phil said, tentatively smiling back at the Captain, “I know this must be a really tough situation for you and I’m happy to help in anyway I can.” 

The Captain looked at him seriously, “It must be hard for you too. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if our positions were reversed.” 

The Captain gestured helplessly at the belongings scattered across his lap, “I remember all of these things, but if I can’t remember you, so how do I know if any of this is real. If anything I remember is right at all? I can’t remember my own fiancé.” He sounded lost and almost desolate.

Phil studied the blanket covering the bed. Fury had to realize that his plan was making the Captain doubt his own sanity. Didn’t he? If only Phil hadn’t agreed to this stupid plan to begin with.

“I wish I knew what to tell you,” Phil said, picking at the blanket next to his leg, “I’m sorry, Captain, but I don’t know what to say. I keep hoping that things will make sense and get better, but that hasn’t happened yet.”

“Steve,” the Captain said, breaking Phil’s train of thought, “Please, you have to call me Steve. I want things to be like they would have been between us if I hadn’t lost my memories.”

Phil looked up to meet the Captain’s eyes and he reached his hand out to cover one of the Captain’s own. “Steve, I do truly believe that eventually this will all make sense. You just have to give it a little bit more time.” Time for Fury to finally reveal the truth and let the Captain go back to feeling sane. Which would really solve a considerable number of the poor Captain’s problems.

Phil went to pull his hand back, but the Captain put his own over it, holding it in place. Phil felt his ears flush. Jesus, it just didn’t seem real, even having been told that Phil was his fiancé, why would the Captain touch him at all. Seeing Phil with ‘fresh’ eyes he should be realizing that he could not only do better, but it would be easy to find that better person. Phil was plain, balding, and boring. Almost anyone would be better than him. 

Phil tried to tug his hand out of the Captain’s again, but the Captain held it fast, picking Phil’s hand up to cradle in his own. His thumb was gently caressing the back of Phil’s hand in a slow warm sweep. 

Phil knew his ears had to be on fire from embarrassment and shameful secret enjoyment. This was his childhood hero and his crush for the most of his adult life. And he was holding Phil’s hand. And all Phil could think about was how Clint’s hands would have different callouses and that Phil would want to clutch his hand back, instead of letting his own hand hang there limply in surprise. 

“Phil,” the Captain said, softly brushing one of his hands over Phil’s cheek, “I could have died on Christmas. I could have left you widowed before we even married and you wouldn’t have been able to claim benefits or support. I may not remember our engagement, but I have faith that I will remember. Or that if I don’t, I will fall in love with you all over again.”

“Steve,” Phil whispered, trying to get him to stop, but not having the words.

“This coma has driven home what is important in my life – and what’s important is my family and the people I love. And you, Phil, have apparently become the cornerstone of my family. Nothing is more important to me right now than to make sure you’ll be looked after if the worst happens. You’ve got to be something special and I can spend the rest of my life figuring out why.”

Phil was having an out of body experience, his brain seemed to have disconnected from his body. He wanted to speak, but it felt like he couldn’t. He wanted to snatch his hand out of the Captain’s tight grasp, but he couldn’t seem to get the message through his brain to his reflexes. More than anything he wanted to stumble away from the Captain’s bed and get out into the hallway and run away from all of this. That was impossible for more reasons than his inability to act, to move. 

The Captain captured Phil’s chin in his hand and lifted it slowly up, so that Phil could meet his eyes. 

“Phillip Coulson,” the Captain said, “Will you marry me?”

Phil couldn’t breathe. How had Fury convinced the Captain to do this? It had to have been Fury, how else could this have happened?

There was a thump and a clatter from behind Phil, causing him to jerk his chin out of the Captain’s grasp to turn and look at the source of the noise. It was Skye. She was in the doorway and had apparently tripped over the wheelchair she’d been pushing. She was lying on the ground trying to untangle herself while looking at Phil and the Captain with eyes wider than saucers. Clearly she had heard the Captain when he … when he asked Phil to marry him. Holy shit. He had to say something. He had to do something. 

“Skye,” Phil said, half falling off the bed as he went to help her. He staggered to her in the doorway and then realized that had probably been the wrong move, so he turned to go back to the Captain. But he couldn’t leave Skye, so he turned around again. His brain wasn’t providing him with good enough input to actually make decisions. 

Phil sank to the floor and grabbed the handle of the wheelchair, pulling it free from Skye’s leg. She immediately scrambled up to her feet and then reached down to pull Phil back to his feet too. 

“You’re supposed to be using your cane!” She hissed at him, “Don’t make me put you back in the wheelchair.” Then she grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around, and gave him a gentle shove back in the Captain’s direction.

The Captain had swung his legs off the bed, so he was sitting with his bare feet brushing the floor as he looked earnestly at Phil. His blue eyes were keen and worried, looking for all the world like he was about to be kicked while he was down. 

“Uh, S … Steve,” Phil stuttered, reaching his hand out to the Captain. The Captain smiled shyly at Phil, looking up at Phil through his ridiculously long eyelashes. 

Phil heard another noise behind him and looked at the reflection in the heart monitor, it was Fury, leaning in the doorway in his leather-coated splendor. He felt the glare Fury was aiming at him run like a dark shiver down his spine. 

“Yes,” Phil breathed so soundlessly he couldn’t even hear himself. 

Phil tried again, “Yes.” His voice shook, but you could hear it. 

The Captain’s face broke into a huge grin and he brought Phil’s hand to his mouth and pressed his surprisingly soft and warm lips to the back of it. 

Skye let out a choked whoop from behind them. And then Phil found himself being half tackled into the Captain by her. As Phil stumbled forward, the Captain wrapped him in his arms, easily supporting Phil’s weight as Skye hugged him around the neck. When Skye pulled back the Captain pulled Phil in and he pressed his lips to Phil’s in a chaste kiss. 

Phil felt like his skin was crawling. The Captain’s lips were warm and careful, but Phil couldn’t pull away fast enough. It was wrong, it was all wrong. From his lies right on down to the man he was in love with, kissing the Captain was wrong and awful. But this was his mission, he reminded himself harshly. So he smiled broadly and fought down the urge to scrub his hand over his mouth. He could feel Fury’s gaze on him like a physical weight. He just had to keep faking it, just needed to keep his act together for a little longer. 

“Congratulations are in order,” Fury drawled from behind them. And Phil used that interruption as cover to pull back even further from the Captain, grabbing at Skye’s arm before she could move away. She must have supposed that Phil’s leg was going to give out because she wrapped her arm around his waist and took a firm hold, taking a lot of his weight onto her. 

Fury paced into the room and smiled in a highly disturbing way. “SHIELD will be happy to help facilitate the wedding,” he assured them, “In fact, we’d be happy to offer the use of the hospital chapel for your wedding. You could be married today.”

The Captain laughed, “I think we might need a little more time than that, Director, but we’ll definitely consider it.” 

“Two days,” Phil blurted out, “We could have the wedding in two days. That would give us time to invite people. Get something to wear.” He was amazed at how calm he sounded. Like he planned his shotgun wedding to Captain America every day of the week. His stomach felt like it wanted to drop down to the floor below. 

“Fantastic idea, Liaison,” Fury said, coming over to clap him on the shoulder. Fury gave him a speaking look, “I’ll make it happen. Only the best for Captain America and the Avenger’s favorite Liaison.” With that Fury spun around and walked out of the room. 

“Two days, huh?” The Captain laughed. “It’s a bit fast, but you’re right, we should go ahead and have the wedding. No chances this time.” He smiled brilliantly at Phil, swinging his legs back up on the bed. “I’ll have to talk to Dr. Streiten about what I’ll need to do to get there. He’ll probably make me bring an IV stand to my own wedding.” 

Phil forced another smile and a laugh. “If that’s what’s going to keep you healthy, that’s what I want.” He just had to keep smiling for a little longer. 

“I need to get back to work,” Phil said, reaching for where his cane had fallen to the floor. Skye stopped him and reached down for it herself, putting it into his hand. 

“Lots of paperwork today,” She agreed, smiling brightly at the Captain. 

“I’ll come to see you tonight,” Phil said, “We can figure out who needs invitations.”

“Fantastic, I’ll see you then,” The Captain said, giving them a small wave as they turned to go. 

Skye pulled the wheelchair up and offered it to Phil, but Phil shook his head and continued to limp out the door with the help of his cane. Skye raced after him, but kept silent until they reached the privacy of the elevator. 

“Holy fuck,” she muttered when the doors slid closed.

“Fuck doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Phil said, with a long sigh. He was getting married. Fuck was light-years away at this point.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil wished Fury hadn’t used the word ‘locked’. All it was doing was painting a rather unsettling and nightmarish picture in his head of Fury handcuffing him to the Captain and then throwing away the key.

With Trip in charge of running interference, Phil managed to bang out another half box of paperwork before the end of the day. Miraculously, there was now only a single box of back logged paperwork sitting on his office floor. 

If Phil really pushed it tomorrow he might be able to get through it. If he did, he’d be able to suffer through the wedding and be shipped back to the copy pool knowing that his successor would be in a much better situation than he had been when he took over the Liaison position.

Skye came by to walk Phil back to the hospital wing. They didn’t say much. He could tell that she knew he was upset, but wasn’t sure about what. Or, indeed, if there was anything she could do about it. 

Phil didn’t think that telling her that he was being forced into this ridiculous semi-sham wedding was a good idea. Since she might do something drastic like shoot vibrations at the Director until Fury left Phil alone. And while that would be great, it wouldn’t be good for her future at SHIELD. And Phil could tell that SHIELD was being very good to Skye, so he wanted to make sure that no matter what happened to him that Skye was able to stay. 

Fury was in the Captain’s hospital room when Phil arrived. He waved distractedly to Skye before taking a deep sustaining breath and then heading in to join them. 

They were, perhaps predictably, talking about the wedding. Fury was going over a list of names with the Captain. When Phil came over though, the Captain dropped the list, to put his hand on Phil’s arm and kiss him on the cheek. Phil smiled as well as he could, but made sure to perch himself in the vicinity of the Captain’s knees to ward off any further attempts at touching. 

“We’ve just finished finalizing my side of the list,” the Captain said, giving Phil a tender look, “Fury says you’ve already okayed your side.” Of course, Phil hadn’t, but did it really matter? At this point he would honestly prefer if no one he knew were even invited. In fact, if all of the people on his side of the aisle were mole suspects then so much the better. He just wanted to help Fury find the mole so he could be done. 

“Yeah, I looked at it earlier. Looks good.” 

“Fantastic,” Fury said, standing up, “I’ll have the invitations printed and delivered by tomorrow morning. And then by 11 the following day you two will already be locked in blissful matrimony.” Phil wished he hadn’t used the word ‘locked’. All it was doing was painting a rather unsettling and nightmarish picture in his head of Fury handcuffing him to the Captain and then throwing away the key. 

Phil didn’t linger too long after Fury left. The Captain – ‘Please, Phil, it’s Steve’ - was clearly trying his best to be kind and gentle with Phil, but it almost made Phil feel worse. Phil knew what he was doing was morally wrong, even if the Captain had agreed to be a part of the mole hunt prior to his coma. He hadn’t agreed to marry Phil as part of that hunt, even if Fury seemed to think that fact didn’t matter. 

After taking the subway home, Phil ate a half-hearted dinner, feeling trapped in the silence of his empty apartment. He contemplated calling Skye, but it would be her curfew soon, so it wouldn’t do to invite her over to watch another episode or two of Psych. 

He ended up sitting heavily on his bed contemplating the suit he’d worn to his father’s burial. He pulled it out of the back of his closet and took it out of the garment bag to get a better look at it. It was a three piece and far nicer than his normal work suit. It was so a deep a blue it was almost black, so he hadn’t thought twice about using it when his father died. And now here he was thinking about wearing it to his own wedding. 

He stood up and pulled the jacket off the hanger, letting it hang from his fingers, feeling it’s texture. Tossing it onto the bed for a moment, he grabbed the vest and pulled it on, buttoning it up. Then he pulled the suit jacket over it, running his fingers across his chest as he let it settle into place. He went over to the mirror and looked at himself. The jacket still fit well, if he wanted to wear it, it wouldn’t have to be altered. 

He took the hanger with the pants and held it up in front of him. He tried to imagine himself walking down the aisle dressed like this. He looked at his ashen face in the mirror and his dull blue eyes that seemed resigned and dim. He couldn’t see it.

Phil heard a knock on the door, jolting him out of his self-contemplation. He grabbed his cane and tossed his pants onto the bed. Heading to the door, Phil had an idea about who he would find, but at this point any distraction would be welcome, even Eddie. 

Getting to the door, Phil swung it open without checking the peephole. Already talking before the door was open, “No, I’m not wearing black underwear and no, you cannot move in.” 

It was Clint, not Eddie. Shit.

“Good to know,” Clint said, a laugh bubbling out of him at Phil’s mistake.

“I thought you were Eddie,” Phil explained, moving out of the door to let Clint step in. Feeling a shiver run through him as Clint’s shoulder brushed against his own.

“So he’s been giving you more trouble?” Clint asked, gesturing for Phil to precede him into the living room. 

“Actually no, he’s been giving me lots of space.”

“Good. By the way, I like the suit.”

“Oh,” Phil said, having momentarily forgotten about his attire, “I was trying it on, you know for the wedding. Let me take it off.” 

Phil went into his bedroom and was surprised when Clint followed him in. Trying to hide the frisson of want that raced through him at having Clint in there, Phil grabbed the pants off the bed and hung them in the closet before tackling the jacket, the buttons of which seemed to have gotten inexplicably slippery, as he struggled to get them through the holes. Perhaps it was his suddenly sweating palms that were causing the problem.

He managed the suit jacket and pulled it off, hanging it back in his closet. Clint was standing close behind him, hovering in apparent concern. Phil turned his head to look at him and gave Clint a small smile, which he returned in spades. Phil dropped his gaze, the smile still playing over his lips. Having Clint this close was wonderful, therapeutic almost, giving him hope in what seemed like a hopeless situation. 

“Want my help?” Clint asked quietly, running his hand through his hair, tousling the blonde and brown hair appealingly. 

Phil raised his eyebrows. And Clint nodded at his chest. “With the vest. Those buttons are smaller than the jackets.” 

“Oh,” Phil said, feeling silly for not realizing what Clint had meant. He should say no. Of course, if it came down to things he should be doing then he should have turned Clint away at the door. He should have told the truth. And he should be alone right now, like he was meant to be. 

“Thanks.” Phil turned more fully toward Clint, who reached out and slowly started unbuttoning the vest. His talented fingers didn’t struggle with the buttons like Phil’s sweaty ones had. Phil looked at Clint’s face, as he focused on Phil’s buttons, and felt a tug on his heart. Clint was so beautiful standing here in the soft light of his bedside lamp. How easy it would be to cross the distance between them and touch. 

As Clint’s fingers landed on the last button, Phil reached out his left hand and gently ran his fingertips over the back of Clint’s hand. Clint froze and then he finished unbuttoning the button before grabbing Phil’s hand and squeezing it. Phil felt like he couldn’t breathe with how warm Clint’s fingers felt against his own. 

“I have a present for you,” Clint said, flicking his eyes up to meet Phil’s, “Lets go sit down and put some ice on your leg. Then I’ll give it to you.” 

Clint kept his hand on Phil, sliding it to the small of Phil’s back as he ushered him out of the bedroom and over to the couch. Phil could feel each of his fingers pressing into his skin through his shirt and the vest. He didn’t resist the desire to slow down to allow Clint’s hand even fuller contact. 

Once he was seated, Clint disappeared into the kitchen, returning with another of Phil’s ample supply of instant ice packs. 

“Up on the table,” Clint directed, placing his hand on Phil’s shin as Phil settled his leg up on the table. Clint leaned over and placed the ice pack on Phil’s thigh, pressing it unerringly to the worst of his bruise. He grabbed Phil’s hand and pressed it onto the ice pack with his, before moving away to settle on the couch next to Phil. 

Clint leaned back loose limbed on the couch and let his head fall to the side, so he could look at Phil. Then he dug in his pocket producing a slim package folded in white paper. He handed it to Phil, looking almost shy as he avoided meeting Phil’s eyes after the package was in Phil’s hand. Phil pulled the white paper away revealing a small clear box with 5 small discs in it, each no bigger than the nail on Phil’s middle finger. 

“What are they?” Phil asked, opening the lid to look more closely at their silvery surfaces. 

“Next gen Widow’s Bites,” Clint said, “So basically they’re mini tazers. Easy to hide, easy to use, you just press them and then 4 seconds later anything around they’re touching goes zap.” 

“Thank you,” Phil said, “These are really great.” He was touched that Clint had been thinking about him. 

“I thought they might be useful if you have to fight off another hoard of HYDRA flunkies. Help keep you safe.” 

Phil reached over and wrapped his arms around Clint’s shoulders. Clint turned into him and slid his own hands around Phil’s waist, so Phil pulled him even closer, tucking his face into the space between his neck and shoulder. He’d discovered how amazing that nook was when Clint carried him in the hospital. It was just like he remembered, smelling like Clint and home and safety. Clint’s arms wrapped around him were warm and comforting, Phil just wanted to stay there forever. Clint was the one who finally pulled back. 

“I’m glad you liked it. Steve told me the wedding is going to be in 2 days, so I wanted to give it to you as a wedding present before all the craziness starts.” 

Phil looked at the box in his hand, a wedding present. He almost wanted to toss it away, but it was from Clint and not only that, it was undeniably useful and thoughtful. Clint already knew him so well. 

“Thank you,” Phil repeated, reaching out briefly as Clint stood up from the couch, wanting to stop him, but realizing he couldn’t, so he dropped his hand back to his side hopefully before Clint noticed. 

Clint turned back to him, tucking his hands into his pockets. He looked down at his feet. “I’ve got an op tomorrow, but I’ll be there for the wedding.” 

Clint looked at Phil through his eyelashes, “Steve is a really lucky guy.”

Turning to leave, Clint was heading for the door when Phil called his name. 

Phil looked at him, trying to find the words to express all of the emotions that were welling up in his chest. Trying to find the courage to defy Fury and tell Clint the truth, even if it would drive away what little contact he had with him. All he could hear inside of his head was Clint telling the Captain that he wouldn’t want to risk losing the perfect man. 

What Phil said was, “Can you give me a reason, any reason, why I shouldn’t marry the Captain?” It was an unfair question and Phil knew it, but if there was any chance that Clint could want Phil for himself, Phil had to know. He would do anything for that chance. 

Clint’s face twisted with some unknown emotion before he said, “No. No, I can’t.” 

Clint left the apartment without another word, leaving Phil by himself once more. He’d known that in all likelihood Clint didn’t feel the same way for Phil that Phil did for him. And really, that was for the best, since it would spare Clint some of the heartache that the revelation of Phil’s lies and betrayal would cause. 

Phil looked at the box of Widow’s Bites in his hand and ruthlessly shoved away every emotion they brought welling up into his heart. He could do this, but he had to be in control. He had to resign himself to reality. Lives were depending on him.

Phil slept poorly and arrived at work while the night shift was still winding down. He’d already filed two full sets of mission reports by the time Trip came in to the office. Ten minutes later Trip was dropping off a full cup of coffee at Phil’s elbow. He really was a great assistant. Phil nodded at him in acknowledgement, but kept working until he realized Trip was still standing behind him, hovering in apparent indecision. 

“Yes?” Phil asked. 

“I was just thinking that maybe we could elevate your leg, I have a footstool for you,” Trip said, looking highly guilty.

“Is Clint harassing you again? I can ask him to stop,” Phil said, turning back to his paperwork. 

“Actually Agent Romanov dropped off the footstool. I think she may be planning to kill me unless I can convince you to use it.”

Phil looked at him and then looked at his leg. “Fine, bring it in. I’ll use it for a bit, if that will make Agent Romanov happy.”

“It will. Thank you, Phil.” A voice floated down from the vent, causing both Phil and Trip to scramble for the gun in his desk before it registered that the voice belonged to Natasha. 

The grate shifted aside and a red mass of hair appeared. “It would also make me happy if you iced your leg.” She tossed an instant ice pack at his face, which Phil barely managed to catch before it smacked him right in the nose. 

Gracefully flipping through the vent, Natasha stood on the desk and pulled the grate back into place before hopping down. 

“Can I trouble you for a cup of coffee Mr. Triplett?” Natasha asked. 

“Sure thing, Agent Romanov, I’ll get that and the footstool.”

The second Trip was out of the room, Natasha walked over to the door and closed it, flipping the lock before turning back to contemplate Phil. And Phil took the opportunity to wonder if this was going to be his last moment on Earth. Maybe Agent Romanov had figured out the fake engagement and was here to eliminate him. She was a spy of the highest caliber, so Phil really couldn’t rule it out. 

After a minute’s contemplation, she sauntered over to the desk, putting both of her hands on it and leaning forward in what was clearly meant to be a seductive fashion. If Clint had been doing that, Phil would be in trouble, but luckily Natasha was a different matter. 

“Clint has been very worried about you,” she said, “He was very concerned when he learned both he and Agent Skye would be off base today. He seemed to feel that without one of them present that you wouldn’t take care of yourself. Now, Clint is my brother in all but blood, so there is only so many times I can hear him worry before I have to do something about it. Of course, we did also make a deal where he would agree to shut up if I agreed to look after you. It was a good deal and it saved me from having to gag him with his arm guard, so …” Natasha made an expressive face indicative of both her love and frustration with Clint all in one eyebrow flip. Phil was duly impressed. 

The expression dropping from her face, Natasha tossed her hair over her shoulder and she walked over to the accumulating stack of empty filing boxes in the corner of Phil’s office. She reached into the top one and pulled out a familiar purple bundle. 

“Clint was particularly worried that you weren’t staying warm enough while icing your leg. So I took the liberty of bringing the sweater we gave you for Christmas and, of course, Clint’s fleece. He was most insistent that you might need that.” 

“Wait,” Phil said, “I brought the sweater you gave me home.” 

Natasha raised a mocking eyebrow at him and laughed like he’d just told her the best joke she’d heard all week.

She chucked his cheek and then cajoled him out of his suit jacket and into the soft sweater she and Pepper had picked out to match his eyes. Then she helped him slide the jacket back on over it. 

“Much better,” she said with a nod, before grabbing the ice pack off of Phil’s desk and cracking it to release the cold. She offered it back to Phil who put it on his thigh. She seemed satisfied with that, turning to head back over to the door. 

Phil almost breathed a sigh of relief, but stopped himself, not wanting to give himself away in such a stupid fashion. If Natasha Romanov wasn’t suspicious of him, he wasn’t going to give her any more reasons to be. After all, if he could avoid being the subject of her ire (as would no doubt occur when the truth came out), he would like to do so for as long as possible. 

“Oh, and Phil,” She said, slowly turning around to look at him, her face a mask of serious contemplation. 

“We haven’t known each other very long, but I consider you to be a friend. And as a friend, I just want to say that I hope you know what you’re doing. There are few truly easy choices in life, but choosing to get married should be one of them. If you have any misgivings or doubts or even the wrong motivations, then you could be making a very big mistake tomorrow. Marrying someone is a life long commitment and as your friend, I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life regretting it.” 

After a long beat she continued, “Of course, with the right person, marriage can bring you a lifetime of happiness. If you truly love someone, you would be foolish to let anything stand between you. I imagine it would be a torment to let a love like that get away from you,” Natasha’s eyes seemed to flash when she said ‘torment’ and Phil felt himself shiver in his seat, a shiver that had nothing to do with the ice pack on his leg.  
“Think carefully about what you’re doing tomorrow, Phillip Coulson, and for your sake, don’t let that one perfect man slip through your fingers.” Natasha looked at him for a long minute as Phil desperately tried to both wrap his mind around what she was saying and come up with an appropriate response. 

Before he could do either of those things, she swung around and unlocked the door. Easily taking her coffee out of Trip’s hand as he’d been getting ready to knock on the door with his other. 

She looked over her shoulder at Phil and then flashed a disturbingly violent smile, before disappearing out into the hallway. 

Trip stood looking after her and then turned to Phil. “Damn that woman is seriously going to kill at least one of us. I don’t even know what we did, but we’re going to die.”

“If she ever decided to kill us, we wouldn’t stand a chance, but if it’s all the same, I’m getting married tomorrow, so let’s put off death for as long as possible.” 

Trip looked at him confused. “By using the footstool she brought,” Phil prompted.

Trip laughed at himself and then grabbed the footstool from his office and setting it under Phil’s desk, allowing Phil to hoist his leg up on to it. 

“It’s a good height,” Trip said, “I’d almost say she’d have had to measure it.”

“This is Agent Romanov, we’re talking about,” Phil pointed out, feeling the weight of his sweater that she’d clearly stolen from his apartment, “So she probably did.” 

“Or she was just born an all-knowing and omnipotent being put on Earth to show the rest of us how far we have to go.” 

“Or that,” Phil agreed as Trip headed back to his desk, closing the door between their offices behind him. 

As the latch caught, Phil dropped his head into his hands, running Natasha’s words through his head trying to figure out what she knew and what she’d meant. 

It was wishful thinking, of course, but that last part about letting the perfect man slip through his fingers, it almost sounded like she was talking about Clint. And if she was, well she was Clint’s best friend, his sister – if she was telling him that he would be letting Clint slip away, then that meant that he not only had a chance with Clint, but that Clint might want him back.

Of course, if you considered those words in the context of everything else she’d said, then she was probably just trying to warn Phil that he needed to know that the Captain was ‘the one’ before marrying him. Or it could just mean that she’d figured out that he was faking his relationship with the Captain and was essentially tricking him into marrying Phil, hence the comment about the ‘wrong motivations.’

Although, Phil would put at least 80% of the blame for that on Fury, since Phil had at least recognized that the truth needed to come out when the Captain woke up. Even if that was the last thing he wanted. Even if that meant he would have a deadly master assassin breaking into his apartment to kill him and not to steal sweaters to make sure he wasn’t cold at work. 

If she did know the truth, though, then there wouldn’t be any reason for her not to stop him - for her not to stab him in the neck for his betrayal of her and her family. At least, Phil didn’t think there was a reason, but that didn’t rule out the possibility that there was some reason to keep him alive in spite of his betrayal. 

Still it seemed unlikely, so perhaps she really meant that he just needed to be sure about marrying the Captain (which, of course, he was definitely not). His brain unhelpfully chimed in with another reminder that she could have meant that he was letting Clint get away. He tried to squash it as he absentmindedly pulled the purple fleece to him from where Natasha had left it on his desk and buried his face in it. 

It smelled like Clint and he was definitely making the biggest mistake of his life if he even had a single chance in hell with Clint he’d take it over Captain America any day. 

Phil stayed through dinner working on paperwork while Trip periodically stuck his head in to check on him, looking more and more concerned. Possibly with Phil, or possibly with the worry that the Black Widow would be swinging in at any moment to kill him for letting Phil work too much. It was hard to tell. 

At 8 pm, Phil finished the last set of ammunition requisitions from the bottom of the last box. And he’d done it. Every last bit of paperwork in the Avengers Liaison’s office had been completed. Phil felt a warm flush of accomplishment as he pulled his foot off the footstool and stood up, setting the fleece he’d had draped over his lap on the desk. 

“Done?” Trip asked, looking manically hopeful.

“Yes. Done.” Phil said, with a sigh. It was done. After he left tonight he’d probably never set foot back in this office. 

“Thank God,” Trip said, “I was worried I was going to have to tranq you or I’d end up having to carry you down the aisle while you slept through your wedding. Although I would have made that look good, boss, so don’t worry.” 

Phil laughed, “You’re coming?” 

Trip waved a hand at him, “Please, LC, I am going to be sitting in the front row crying my eyes out. My boss all grown up and marrying Captain America. It’s enough to bring anybody to tears.”

“Good,” Phil said, “I’ll look for you tomorrow morning. And if you could make sure that this fleece gets back to Agent Barton and the footstool to Agent Romanov, I would appreciate it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to hang on to them for a little while longer? You might want them after the honeymoon.” 

Phil ran his hand over the soft purple blanket before forcing a smile that came out bittersweet. “I’m sure. Thank you, Trip. It’s been a real pleasure working with you.” 

“Naw, boss. It’s been a pleasure working for you. Trust me. This is much better than my last gig.”

Phil grabbed his briefcase and cane, following Trip out his office. He turned to give it one last look, taking in the dead fern and the ergonomic office chair. He would miss it. And he’d definitely miss Trip. 

“Have a good night, Trip.” Phil said, smiling at Trip before turning and reluctantly leaving a small chapter of his life behind.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil's phone buzzed with a text message and he looked at it to see that Fury had sent him a calendar reminder for his own wedding.

Phil woke up feeling like he hadn’t slept for all that he’d lain in bed for far too long. He shuffled through his morning routine, studiously avoiding looking at the suit hanging from his closet door. 

He hadn’t been as disciplined during the dark hours of the night, when he’d stared at it every time he opened his eyes. It felt like an omen, hanging there in the dim moonlight. But whenever he shut his eyes to block it out, there was something even more terrifying playing across the inside of his eyelids, Clint’s beautiful laughing ever-changing face with the unending accompaniment of Natasha’s words echoing in his head over and over again. Was he really making the biggest mistake of his life? Or did none of this matter except in his mind. 

Phil sat listlessly at the table trying to muster the energy and desire to chew his way through the oatmeal he’d just made. His father had always said that oatmeal was the most filling breakfast for important days. And Phil had found himself instinctively making it on, this, his wedding day. After all, if that didn’t qualify as important he really shouldn’t have bothered making oatmeal for his SAT or his graduation from Ranger School.

But the oatmeal felt heavy in his mouth and even his teeth felt tired. He just wanted to crawl back into bed and let the day pass him by, but that wasn’t an option. 

His phone buzzed with a text message and he looked at it to see that Fury had sent him a calendar reminder for his own wedding. The man was the Director of SHIELD and Phil respected that, but he was also very ready to admit that Fury was a dick of the highest order. 

Eating his way through half of his bowl of oatmeal, Phil decided to call it quits and went to get dressed. He sat on the bed and pulled the dark pants on. The fine heavy material felt nice and solid, it was a good suit to wear on a cold day. For a cold funeral or a cold wedding, Phil noted with a half hysterical burst of laughter. 

Phil pulled on a clean crisp white shirt, and went to button it up before he realized that today would probably be a really good day to wear that body armor he’d been issued. He went to his briefcase and pulled it out from where he’d stashed it inside after the testing. Unlike the tactical vests he was used to, Fitz and Simmons had been eager to explain that this would alter it’s fit to go under or over his clothes. When Phil had tested it with them, he’d put it over, but today it would clearly have to go under. After all, who showed up to their own wedding wearing a bulletproof vest? 

Phil tugged the shirt off and dropped it on the bed, pulling the body armor over his undershirt. It felt odd, but not too bad and it was amazingly thin for it’s ability to stop a bullet. And even better, Phil could feel its fit conforming to his chest as he breathed in and out. It really was incredible technology. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to put it to the test today.

Pulling his shirt back on, Phil buttoned it up before going for the cufflinks he needed with this, his finest shirt. He picked up the pair his father had left him, which were plain discs in a deep blue. His father had loved them because they were locket cuff links, which could be slipped open to reveal photos or small notes inside. When Phil had been younger he used to leave his father messages in them, for his father to discover at work. Phil rolled them in his fingers and wished he’d been better at talking to his father, instead of only expressing himself through tiny notes that his father may not have ever bothered reading. 

When Phil had worn them to the funeral he’d seen that they each still had a picture of him and his mother inside. Phil flipped the left cuff link open to look at the old photos; they were fading and yellow with age. Had he really been so desperate for a family, for a chance to feel accepted, that he’d willingly omitted the truth just so he wouldn’t have to spend the holidays alone? Of course, later it hadn’t been his loneliness that kept the lie going, but Fury’s mission, but it had started with Phil and that aching pain of having no one. 

Eyeing the cufflink, Phil’s eyes drifted to the Widow’s Bites Clint had given him and he reached over, picking up the clear case. He’d been thinking about bringing them with him to the wedding, to have some piece of Clint with him when it all went to hell. HYDRA might even succeed in killing him, although Phil was going to do his damnedest to avoid that eventuality, but it would be nice to know that Clint was with him in some way if the worst did happen. 

Phil flipped up the lid and plucked a Widow’s Bite out and slid it into the cufflink, flipping the lid closed. It fit perfectly. He slid the cufflink through the buttonhole and closed it. He examined the effect in the mirror, it looked good, and so he slid another Bite into the right cufflink and pushed it into place. 

As he contemplated his selection of ties, Phil couldn’t help thinking about the old wedding tradition: something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. He was set on old, new, and blue in the cufflinks alone. Maybe he should borrow something from Skye. Phil forcibly put a stop to his moment of whimsy. If all went right today he wouldn’t be getting married, so no need to worry over much about traditions. 

Grabbing his favorite gray tie with the subtle chevron pattern, Phil tossed it around his neck and quickly tied it. He needed to get a move on; Skye would be there soon. And it wouldn’t do for her to catch him moping spectacularly around his apartment. She’d change Operation Stubborn Sloth to Operation Sad Sloth and then he’d be in real trouble. 

Tugging on the vest, Phil shrugged into the jacket, and buttoned the vest as he examined the effect in the mirror. A person off the street would be hard pressed to guess if he was going to a wedding or a funeral. Unfortunately, if HYDRA did actually show up then he may have cause to be glad for being doubly prepared. 

He ran his hand down the vest. You couldn’t see that he had the body armor on, but you could feel it. Luckily Phil was in a position to guarantee that not only would no HYDRA moles get close enough to feel up his chest, but no one would. 

Phil’s phone rang, the caller ID displaying ‘Daisy’. 

“Hey,” Phil said, “Did you change your mind about coming to get me?” 

“Fat chance,” Skye scoffed, “I’m actually here. We just pulled up outside. I wanted to give you fair warning to make yourself presentable and hobble over to the door to let me in.” 

“We?” Phil asked, already making his way toward the entryway. 

“Iron Man insisted on lending me a car and driver. Is that not awesome? Tony Stark talked to me!” 

Phil opened his front door to find Skye already standing there. 

“That is cool,” He told her, hanging up his phone, “He probably wants to make sure I can’t claim transportation issues as an excuse for cold feet.” 

“Do you have cold feet?”

Phil looked at her over his shoulder as he made his way back to his bedroom. 

“My feet would not be out of place in the Arctic.”

“So would now be a good time to tell you that there is a flight to Tahiti leaving from JFK in 2 hours and we can be on it?” Skye pointed her finger at Phil, “You and me LC, island vacation. Only if you’d like, of course.”

Phil took a deep breath. “Now is definitely a good time, but I can’t. I have to do this. Fury …”

“He ordered you to do it, didn’t he?”

Phil shrugged, “You have to admit that a mole would be hard pressed to resist the kind of spectacle that this wedding will be.” 

“Yeah,” Skye said, flopping down on Phil’s bed, “I mean, if I were a mole I’d totally come to assassinate you at your wedding. It’s very dramatic and tragic and theatrical. Who could resist that?”

Phil sat on the bed next to where Skye’s feet hung off of it and put on his newly polished dress shoes. 

Skye sat up and nudged her shoulder into his. “Are you scared, LC? That they will come and try to kill you? I mean, I guess they already tried at the New Years Party, but you aren’t actually allergic to lemons, so it’s not really the same.” 

“I’d be stupid if I wasn’t scared, but I’m also prepared. I’m wearing body armor and I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” Phil told her, trying to be comforting. 

Skye nodded and then reached one of her arms around Phil, tilting the side of her head onto his shoulder. 

“It’s going to be ok, Phil. And if you need me you can always call me. Just dial my number and I can fake a heart attack or start a fight to cover your escape. I’m a very good actress.” 

Phil wrapped his arm around her and let his head gently press on top of hers. 

“Thank you, Skye. I really do appreciate it. It’s all going to be over one way or another today and I would have been in a lot of trouble without you these past couple of weeks.” 

Skye laughed and pulled away, but she was brushing at her eyes as she did. Clearly Phil wasn’t the only one getting a little over emotional about his fake wedding. 

“Lets go,” she said, getting up and offering Phil her hands, “We don’t want you to be late to your own wedding.” 

“I wouldn’t mind that much.”

“You don’t want to let HYDRA or the Captain down, do you?” 

“Well, when you put it that way,” Phil said with a laugh. 

Phil grabbed his cane and pulled his overcoat out of the closet. “I can’t believe I’m going to my own wedding,” he muttered to the other coats and clutter covering the closet floor. 

“I can’t believe we’re going to be late!” Skye shouted, looking at the clock on the wall in horror, “I thought it was 9:30, not 9:45. Stop lollygagging, LC, I don’t want Iron Man to kill me when we’ve just reached speaking terms.” 

Skye and Phil tumbled out of the car in an unseemly hurry a mere 5 minutes after 10, which was also, of course, 5 minutes after the wedding was supposed to start. Phil, who was normally the epitome of punctuality, was forced to admit that he had probably been dragging his feet more than was necessary in his morning preparations just to put this moment off a little longer. 

“In! In!” Skye said, gesturing frantically for Phil to precede her into the hospital and then she proceeded to efficiently herd him in the direction of the chapel. She was kind enough, though, to keep her enforced pace at a rate Phil could manage with his cane. 

They both came to an abrupt stop in front of the double doors leading into the chapel, as Phil stopped to stare at them with a growing sense of horror. 

“I can do this,” Phil said out loud, trying to convince himself of that fact more than anything else. 

“And if you want the fake-heart-attack-special, just call me or you know say ‘watermelon’ or something and I’ll just keel right over.” Skye was clearly trying to be reassuring, but Phil was fervently hoping that he would not be in a situation where he needed her to distract all of his wedding guests so he could run away.

Phil took a deep breath, “Ok, let’s do this.” He started for the door only to be pulled up short, by Skye’s hand on his arm.

“Your coat,” she reminded him. And Phil sheepishly took it off and handed it to her. Wouldn’t do to be married in his overcoat when he’d spent so much time on his suit. Then Skye surprised him by tackling him in a hug. 

“You are one of my best friends,” she whispered in his ear, “And we’ve got this.” 

Phil had no idea how to respond. Just hearing her say they were friends was amazing and unexpected. Sure, Phil, who had almost no friends, had started counting Skye among their miniscule numbers, but that she felt the same was heartwarming and helped abate some the dread brewing in his stomach. 

“Thank you,” Phil whispered back, hugging her to him, “You’re one of my best friends too.” 

Skye pulled back and beamed at him before making shooing motions. “Now go get married,” she hissed, pushing the door open for him. 

Phil looked down the aisle to see the Captain standing straight and tall dressed in a blue suit with a white shirt and red tie. The man really couldn’t break the red, white, and blue color theme even for his own wedding. 

But Phil’s eyes were drawn inescapably to the man standing slightly behind the Captain in the spot for the best man. 

It was Clint. 

Phil couldn’t help but feel like the universe was playing a very cruel joke on him. Yes, he’d been aware that the Captain and Clint were teammates, friends, and family, but he had not put that together with having Clint as the best man. Phil should have elected Skye to be his best man because at this rate he might have appreciated someone physically pushing him up to the altar. 

Clint looked unfairly handsome in a black suit and subtle purple tie. He was too beautiful for words and it hurt Phil to look at him and know that soon Clint wouldn’t want anything to do with him. To know that the small smile gracing his mouth would be a grimace of distaste the next time he saw Phil. 

Phil forced his eyes away from Clint and they slid to Fury, who had turned in his seat to glare at Phil. Without conscious thought Phil started walking down the aisle. Everyone began to stand up and it was a surreal experience. He could see Melinda impassively watching him from the middle of the mass of people. And he could see the Avengers grinning ridiculously at him from the front row. Except for Natasha, of course, who had her arms crossed and looked like she wanted to murder someone, but that was actually a relatively positive expression for her, since she wasn’t sharpening her knives while she made it. 

Hill and Trip stood next to Fitz and Simmons in the 3rd row. Simmons smiled and waved at him when he caught her eye. Trip gave him two thumbs up and mouthed ‘looking good’ at him. Buoyed by their support, Phil kept putting one foot in front of the other and made it past the pews to the base of the short steps leading up to the altar. 

Phil hesitated there for a second, making sure he got his cane on the step before starting up himself and then he was a mere few steps away from the Captain. 

Looking at the Captain’s imposing and perfect physique Phil felt incredibly inadequate and stupid. Here he was limping about with a cane pretending he could marry a superhero. Everyone here must be wondering who he was kidding. His eyes slid to Clint, who still had a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Seeing his gaze, though, Clint broke out an encouraging grin that gave Phil the strength to go the last few steps to stand opposite the Captain with the minister spanning the distance between them. 

There was a shuffling as the guests sat and then the minister cleared his throat, opening his bible. 

Phil’s gaze had once again gone past the Captain’s shoulder to Clint. Except Clint was no longer the smiling and supportive best man, instead he looked helplessly dejected, like a man who had just been denied heaven. His shoulders were slumping as though he simply didn’t have the energy to keep himself upright and his face was a mask of exhaustion and sadness. 

Phil felt like his heart was trying to shred itself in his chest at the absolute misery that Clint was embodying. It was unbearable to see Clint like that and Phil wanted nothing more than to fix it, whatever it was. As he watched Clint wiped the emotions off of his face, pasting a blank poker face in their wake and to Phil that was almost worse because he could imagine the heart breaking things Clint was hiding.

Without conscious thought Phil glanced over his shoulders at the Avengers, sliding past Tony, Pepper, Bruce, and Thor to land on Natasha. She was looking right at him and she mouthed, “Big mistake.” 

And in that moment Phil realized he couldn’t do it. It didn’t matter if Fury killed him or the Hulk smashed him or HYDRA shot him. He couldn’t do it. 

“Dearly beloved we are gathered here today to join in …”

Phil cut him off, he couldn’t wait; he had to say it now. He had to stop this now. 

“I object,” he blurted out. He felt like a prize idiot, but he’d gotten it out and that was half the battle. 

There was a mummer from the audience and Phil could distinctly hear Fury saying, “Motherfucker.” Phil was choosing to ignore that for the moment, since it probably meant his imminent death and definite firing. 

The minister earnestly looked at Phil, “I didn’t get to that part yet.” 

But before Phil could respond Clint broke in. “I would have to object too,” he said, looking hopelessly sheepish with his hands stuffed into his pockets. But there wasn’t anything confused about the look in his eyes when they settled on Phil. It looked like love. And Phil couldn’t find the air to breathe when Clint looked at him like that. It made him feel invincible, like he could take on anything, even Fury, even HYDRA. 

The minister, who would probably go down in the annals of SHIELD history as far too helpful, turned to Steve. “How about you?” He asked. Which, really was just what they needed at this point. 

Steve looked confused, but he did have some mild amnesia (and had been horribly lied to), so that seemed pretty fair. “I don’t know,” he said, looking at Phil and then back at Clint, “I’m thinking.”

“What are you doing!?” Tony shouted from the front row, which really, shouting was not necessary. Pepper helpfully smacked Tony on the arm and hushed him. The last thing they needed was another person getting involved in what was about to be a shit show of epic proportions even without HYDRA.

Which, of course, was when the double doors to the chapel burst open and loud voice amplified by a megaphone shouted, “I object!” Followed by a long bout of cackling that sounded genuinely unhinged. 

The minister slammed the bible closed and said, “Get in line!” But his levity died the moment he saw what was coming through the open doors. 

There were dozens upon dozens of black clad, black masked, HYDRA operatives with the Skull patches clear and prominent on their arms pouring into the chapel. They were heavily armed and had their weapons pointed at the audience. No one moved for several long seconds as the man with the megaphone sauntered down the aisle, closer to the altar. 

“I told you, didn’t I, Phil Coulson, that I would put you in your place. You are a useless piece of trash and I’ve made it my job to toss you out like week old take out. You can try to hide behind your Captain, but I’m going to make sure that he has to watch you, his pathetic human fiancé, bleed out all over the floor on his wedding day.” 

As the man talked Phil grew more and more certain that he knew who it was, who it had to be. And sure enough, when the man pulled the mask off of his head, it was none other than Senior Agent John Garrett. Well shit, Phil hadn’t even known he was on the list of mole suspects. Really, it had seemed too obvious to suspect Garrett given his general evil antagonism. Phil would have thought that a mole wouldn’t be that obvious and he was guessing Fury and Hill had thought that too. 

“Surprise,” Garrett cooed maniacally. He looked crazy and Phil was actually forced to wonder if Garrett had lost his mind. 

Garrett dropped the megaphone to his side and raised his handgun, pointing it at Phil’s chest. 

“Goodbye, Coulson,” he said and pulled the trigger.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank God,” Clint sobbed and his lips landed on Phil’s for one heart stopping breathtaking moment that Phil did not have time to appreciate before it was over.

After Garret fired his gun several things happened at once. First, of course, Phil was hit by a bullet. But almost simultaneously the Captain dove at Garrett, taking him down to the floor and wrestling him for his gun. Phil was thrown back by the force of the bullet and then further tackled by Clint, who dove at him and half rolled and half dragged the both of them behind the altar. 

At that point, the rest of the church erupted into chaos as SHIELD agents began fighting the HYDRA operatives. It turned out that SHIELD agents came surprisingly well armed to weddings and in a lucky happenstance, Fury had decided to reinforce all of the pews with bulletproof steel plates two days before. Well, perhaps, not a happenstance, but certainly very useful during an attack. Fury had also apparently reinforced the altar, which Clint insisted on shoving the both of them under, allowing the tablecloth covering the altar to entirely mask them from sight. 

“Jesus, fuck,” Clint was cursing, his hands running over Phil’s chest in the dim light filtering through the white tablecloth. “Where are you bleeding? I can’t find where you’re …”

“Vest,” Phil rasped out, he was a little out of breath and some of his ribs may have cracked, but the body armor had done its job, the bullet hadn’t gotten through. 

Clint fingers stuttered to a stop, tracing the line of the body armor under Phil’s suit and he slumped, relief shuddering through his body as his forehead came to press into Phil’s. 

“Thank God,” Clint sobbed and his lips landed on Phil’s for one heart stopping breathtaking moment that Phil did not have time to appreciate before it was over. All he could think was that he wanted nothing more in life than to kiss Clint again.

Clint had wrenched his lips away from Phil’s, but his hands were still sliding possessively over Phil’s chest. The sounds of gunfire and shouting filled the silence between them and then Clint leant his head close to Phil’s again. 

“Stay. Please,” Clint begged, “Stay here, where it’s safe.” 

“I can help,” Phil pointed out, allowing himself the pleasure of running one of his hands over Clint’s chest to rest over his racing heart. 

“Your leg is a liability,” Clint pointed out reasonably, “Please, Phil. For me.” 

How could Phil say no to that? And Clint wasn’t wrong, his leg would be a liability, he’d lost his cane at some point during the scramble to get to the shelter of the altar. 

Phil clenched his eyes briefly before nodding, “Ok. I’ll stay.” 

Clint’s eyes flicked closed and he looked so earth shatteringly beautiful that Phil couldn’t help reaching his hand up to cup his cheek. When Clint opened his eyes he looked at Phil adoringly and then swooped down for a desperate kiss, his hands half pulling Phil off the floor to clutch him closer as his tongue swept inside Phil’s mouth. 

They broke apart panting as another bullet impacted the altar with a loud popping noise.

“Stay,” Clint reiterated, pulling two guns out of a holster under his suit jacket. And before Phil could say anything, Clint rolled out from under the tablecloth and joined the fight. This was not good, Clint was out there risking his life and Phil was stuck here too much of a liability to help. 

Phil struggled to get into a sitting position, but was forced to lie back on the floor when his ribs began to pinch. As he’d learned in the Rangers, that was not a good sign. Flicking open his left cuff link in the dim light, Phil pulled out the Widow’s Bite and clutched it in his hand, careful not to set it off. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it would be able to incapacitate an attacker if he was desperate. 

Phil could hear more bullets pinging loudly off of the steel plate that was reinforcing the altar, but he couldn’t see how well the plate was holding up to the onslaught. Pulling out his phone and gently rolling himself over on his side, Phil used the flashlight to look at the steel. It was denting with each bullet impact, but the shots were too scattered to pose a risk to the metal yet. If HYDRA wised up and started shooting in only a concentrated area he’d be in trouble, but for now it looked like it would hold. 

Phil flopped back onto his back, his ribs smarting painfully, as if to remind him that he’d really been shot, even if he’d been clever enough to remember his body armor. 

Of course, that was when he saw it. Clinging to the bottom of the altar table like it had any business being there. 

A bomb. 

A motherfucking bomb. In fact, Phil’s emotions were strongly channeling Fury at the moment and all he could think was ‘motherfucker’ over and over again on loop.

Phil had seen his share of bombs during his time in the Rangers, but he’d never been the person who disarmed them, so he felt very unqualified to be making any judgments, but given that there wasn’t anyone else around, he didn’t have much choice. 

While Phil was no expert at disarming bombs, he did possess some expertise with blowing things up, so he could say with confidence that there was enough C4 to level half the chapel at least. But he was less confident about the trigger. It didn’t appear to be running a timer, but that didn’t rule out the fact that there could be one. If Phil had to guess, he thought there was a short-range transmitter acting as the detonation switch, which potentially meant that someone in the chapel had the detonator. 

The likely suspect would, of course, be Garrett, since a HYDRA mole would be high on the list of people who might plant a bomb. But it seemed odd to plant a bomb and launch a huge frontal attack. Maybe it was a failsafe of some sort? But then why not put it on a timer or cell phone trigger? 

What made the most sense was that it was a failsafe, but not one placed by Garrett. It was a failsafe in case Garrett’s plan didn’t work – and Phil highly doubted that Garrett would have agreed to that given his brand of overconfidence. Garrett wouldn’t even have entertained the possibility that he could fail. But if that was the case, then the problem was that, if Phil was doing the math correctly, there was another mole at large. A mole who was planning to finish Garrett’s work in a messy and permanent way if Garrett didn’t succeed. 

Phil needed help. Preferably from someone who was definitely not a mole and knew something about electronics. He was speed-dialing ‘Daisy’ before he even finished the thought. 

“I’m kind of in the middle of something, LC!” Skye shouted before dropping her voice, “And if you’re calling about the fake heart attack I’m going to have to give you a rain check.” 

“Can you get to the altar?” Phil asked. 

There was a pause and then a curse as the sound of splintering wood echoed down the phone line. 

“If I had to I could. Do I have to?”

“Sorry,” Phil told her, “But if you can get here without getting yourself hurt, then yes, you have to.” 

“Bother,” Skye said, “Hold please.” She must have shoved her phone into her pocket because the sounds of gunfire and fighting were muted. Phil was starting to wonder how long she was going to take to get back to him, when a figure slid under the tablecloth on the right side of the table. Phil almost hit the Widow’s Bite before he realized it was Skye, panting as she crawled on to her hands and knees, shuffling over to him.

“Hey, LC,” She said with a smile, “What’s up?”

Phil pointed up above her head, “Rather a lot, I’m afraid.” 

Skye tilted her head back in confusion and then flopped down beside Phil, her shoulder nudging up against his in a comforting way. 

“Well fuck that,” Skye said, as she examined the bomb.

“That was my thought as well,” Phil agreed, “Is there any chance you could disarm it?”

Skye wiggled a bit from side of side. “Maybe,” she finally said, “But I could also accidentally set it off. I’m not an expert at bomb defusal. It looks like there’s a short-range transmitter on this thing, though. Like a garage door opener and that means whoever is planning to blow us up is close by. If we can find that person and get the transmitter, we’d be golden.” 

“I think there’s a second mole,” Phil said slowly, “But I don’t have any proof of that.” 

Skye looked at him, “But that’s what your gut says?”

Phil nodded and Skye gave him a sheepish smile, “LC, I will go with your gut any day. Does your gut also have any ideas about who our second mole is? Because that would be super convenient.” 

“Unfortunately, no. I know some of the people Fury suspected, but I can’t be sure who the best candidate is.” 

“The fight is starting to die down,” Skye pointed out, “It’s going to be over in minutes and then there won’t be anything to stop whoever has the trigger from setting off the bomb. What we need is a distraction. Something so juicy that the mole wants to wait to set off the bomb.”

She looked at Phil. “Are you still opposed to marrying Captain America because that would probably work pretty well?”

“I could tell everyone the truth,” Phil whispered, “I think that would be pretty distracting.” 

Skye turned on her side to look at him, “Seriously? I mean, that would work, but I thought you didn’t want to do that.” 

“I want to,” Phil told her, which, yes, was a reversal from his previous stance. But the more he thought about it, the more it felt like he had to be the one to come clean and allow the truth to cleanse away some of the soul gnawing guilt trying to swallow him whole. And if he did it, then at the very least he wouldn’t have taken the coward’s way out. Clint deserved better than that. All the Avengers did. 

“I do want to,” Phil said with more conviction, “and if it’ll give us time to try and find the mole then so much the better.” 

Skye tilted her head up to look at the bomb again. “Damn it,” she muttered, “I wish there was something we could do that would at least minimize the risk of it going off.” 

“My assets at the moment are two Widow’s Bites, a tie, a set of cufflinks, and a used set of body armor” Phil offered, “If any of that helps at all, you’re welcome to it.” 

“You have Widow’s Bites?” Skye asked in tones of deep disbelief. Phil held up the one he’d been hanging on to in his left hand. Skye grabbed it from his fingers and pulled it close to her face, examining it minutely.

“This might actually work,” she said, reaching up and slotting the thin metal disk into the space next to the transmitter. “Of course, it might not. But it’s better than nothing.”

“Ok,” Skye said, getting back on her knees and crawling to the edge of the tablecloth. “I haven’t heard a shot in over a minute. I think this might be over.” 

Skye poked her head out and Phil grabbed her ankle, ready to pull her back under the table at the slightest indication of trouble. There wasn’t any and Skye crawled out, before reaching back under to help tug and drag Phil’s mostly unhelpful self out into the open. 

With Skye’s further help and judicious propping, Phil managed to attain a standing position, although he couldn’t help slumping his shoulders to lessen the stress on his ribs. Surveying the room, Phil found that while there were a few bodies on the ground, nearly all of them seemed to be HYDRA. The severely injured agents had already been moved out into the hallway where emergency personnel were attending to them. Phil was beyond grateful to see Clint upright and apparently unharmed like the majority of the SHIELD agents, although he had lost his jacket somewhere in the melee. 

Garrett was hogtied in the middle of the aisle and Trip had a foot in the middle of his back and looked seriously pissed off. The Captain, Hawkeye, and the Black Widow were all arrayed at the foot of the stairs leading up to the altar. And the Hulk, Thor, and Iron Man were all by the door to the chapel, having apparently cut off any escapees, as well as covering the EMTs in the hall. 

Hearing a shotgun clearing, Phil looked over to the other side of the altar to see the minister reloading his shotgun with a great deal of concentration. 

“Ok,” Skye whispered, “I’m going to go out into the crowd and keep my eyes peeled for anything suspicious. You stay up here and see if you can spot the mole. If you do, just gesture in their direction. I’ll find them.” 

“We need to get everyone’s attention if this is going to work,” Phil pointed out. 

“I’m going to enlist the minister,” Skye told him. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and then walked over to whisper pointedly with the minister, who put his shotgun down on the altar and grabbed the Bible from where it had been tossed on the floor. 

“Well,” The minister said loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, from the subdued HYDRA operatives to the wedding guests to the emergency personnel, “If there aren’t any further objections. I think we should finish this wedding.” 

Phil glanced at Skye as she slipped down to skirt the back of the aisles, intently looking at everyone there. He was already having second thoughts about this. 

The Captain was looking at the minister, standing in front of the altar with torn confusion on his face. 

“Well, I think that Phil maybe had an objection,” the Captain pointed out, his words directing the attention of the room toward Phil with a laser like focus. Phil felt a trickle of sweat run down his back under the body armor. He could do this. 

He tried to straighten again, but was only able to get his shoulders mostly parallel to the floor before he had to stop in deference to the pain. Unfortunately, this was as dignified as he was going to be able to get. 

“Yeah,” Tony shouted from the back, flipping up his facemask, “Why were you objecting, Phil?” 

Phil took a deep breath and let himself fall past the point of no return. 

“I’m in love with your teammate,” Phil said. It felt good to finally admit it.

“No shit,” Tony said, throwing up his arms, “We are at your wedding in case you failed to notice.” 

“Not that one,” Phil said, pointing a slightly shaking arm at the Captain. He moved his finger slowly to point at Clint, “That one.” 

Clint’s eyes were shining and an incandescent smile was threatening to burst off of his face. Phil wanted to see Clint that happy for the rest of his life. Too bad he was about to ruin any chance of that. 

“Clint!” Tony shouted amidst the general rumble that had traveled through the room at Phil’s declaration, “What the fuck did you do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Phil hastily assured everyone, “Really he didn’t. It was all me.”

Phil shot a wary look at the Hulk, who was still sitting docilely by the doors, apparently uninterested in Phil’s current betrayal. In fact, he appeared to be getting less green by the moment. Hopefully that would last. Skye was pacing past the Hulk, as her eyes desperately scanned the room and she caught Phil’s eye and shook her head briefly. No luck finding the second mole yet. 

Phil couldn’t put it off anymore it was time to tell the truth … all of it. 

“So you remember Christmas day in the hospital?” Phil asked, before he realized what a silly question that was. Everyone in SHIELD probably remembered that day thanks to the gossip mill. In fact, anyone who joined SHIELD in the next 20 years would probably know about that day. 

“Well, um …” Oh god, he had to do it. He just had to say it. He glanced at Clint’s beloved face, trying to print the tender way he was looking at Phil into his memory, “There was a little mix up.”

“When HYDRA attacked on Christmas I was leaving for the day when I ran into the Captain. Which was right when HYDRA burst in and we were all trapped, obviously I had to do something. So I helped the Captain fight them and then when the Captain got hurt, I saved his life. But really, I think anyone at SHIELD would have done the same.” He sounded like such an idiot. He risked a glance at the confusion marring Clint’s face, before forcing himself to turn away.

“During the attack I was shot in the leg and I lost quite a bit of blood, which led to a small miscommunication,” Phil figured it would probably be best to leave Skye out of the story if possible, both to save her from the Avenger’s ire and also to keep from drawing attention to her as she continued to work her way through the room intently looking at everyone there. 

“By the time I woke up in the hospital everyone had already been told that I was the Captain’s fiancé.” He’d gotten this far. It was only a little farther and then it would all be out there. Phil could feel his throat wanting to choke up and he ruthlessly swallowed around it, wanting to sound calm.

“But it wasn’t true.” That sort of summed up Phil’s life for the past couple weeks. Phil looked at the faces that had grown so dear to him and they all were looking at him in confusion. He had a feeling that Clint wouldn’t be confused anymore, that he would understand the implications of what Phil had just said, but he couldn’t dare look at him or risk losing his composure. Clearly he was going to have to elaborate. 

“I was never engaged to the Captain.” And there it was. Stated in cold hard fact. You couldn’t get around the harsh truth of that statement. Phil shot a quick look at Bruce, who had returned to his human size, although he still carried a greenish tinge. It didn’t look like Bruce was planning to re-Hulk and go after Phil, but that probably wasn’t a guarantee it wouldn’t happen. 

Phil finally allowed himself to look at Clint. Clint had his head tilted down and his hand on the back of his neck. He looked tired and defeated. Phil’s heart wanted to break because he was the cause of that. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Clint asked, his words almost a whisper. But you could have heard a pin drop in the silence of the chapel, everyone seemed to be holding their collective breath in anticipation of the next revelation. 

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Phil whispered back, his voice betraying his emotional turmoil as Clint’s red-tinged eyes met Phil’s. It looked like Clint’s might actually be tearing up. Oh god, Phil didn’t think he could take that. Then Clint turned, so that his shoulder was facing Phil and that was even worse. It hurt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He tried to tell himself that he’d always known it would end like this, but that didn’t seem to help the pain or make him want to just sit down on the floor and have a good cry any less. 

Phil glanced at Skye again and she made a frantic ‘keep rolling’ gesture with her arm. Shit. Right. He had to find something else to say. 

“The Captain and I had never even met before that day in the lobby. It’s just when I woke up in the hospital and you were all there, everything happened so fast. And I couldn’t tell you the truth.” Phil made a helpless gesture, looking up at the ceiling to help blink away the tears gathering there. He refused to allow all of his wedding guests to see him cry just because it was time for the most damning confession of all. The one that would show everyone how pathetic he really was.

“And then I didn’t want to tell you the truth.” It sounded so awful spilled out like that in the late morning light, so Phil hurried on looking toward the end of the room, not making eye contact with anyone, “Because the truth was that I was falling in love with you.” 

“Wait, now you’ve fallen in love with me?” Tony asked in apparent disbelief. Which had not been Phil’s intention, but was kind of hilarious when you thought about it.

“No,” Phil said, letting out a weak sounding chuckle, “I mean, yes, but no. I fell in love with all of you. With everything, the Avengers, my new job, my coworkers. I went from being all alone to being a fiancé, a family member, a boss, and most of all a friend.”

Phil turned to look at the Captain, who was still standing there at the bottom of the steps looking slightly bewildered. “I might have saved your life that day when HYDRA attacked, but the truth is that you really saved mine. You allowed me to be a part of your family and it changed my life.”

Clint had shifted back toward Phil and he had his hand on his neck again, but instead of looking heart broken he now seemed pensive. Phil had to ruthlessly crush a flare of hope at that realization. There was no way to come back from this and Phil couldn’t help his voice breaking as he said, “And I didn’t want to let go of that; even though it was only for a little while. I’ll always love each and every one of you.” 

Phil briefly met each of the Avenger’s eyes and was astonished to see that rather than turning green, Bruce had gone back to being fully pink and had tears welling up in his eyes. Thor, who had his arm around Bruce, was actually unabashedly mopping up his tears with the corner of his cape. Natasha just had her arms crossed and a severely unimpressed look on her face. In fact, she seemed about ten seconds away from strangling Phil while shouting at him for totally fucking this up in spite of her efforts. 

Phil even looked at Trip, who shook his head and gave him a thumbs-up. Phil felt his heart swelling. It was good to know that not everyone was going to hold his charade against him. Phil’s eyes slid past Hill, who had her head cradled in her hands and seemed to be calling on the mercy of god (probably to smite everyone in the chapel who was giving her a headache (namely Phil)) and landed with a surprised start on Grant Ward. Who was standing in the aisle with blood smeared across his face and odd look of malice in his eyes. But most worryingly of all – he was standing there with his hand clenched around something in his pocket. 

Phil caught Skye’s gaze and then looked at Ward and then back to Skye. She didn’t seem to have understood his admittedly imprecise message. 

“I am truly sorry,” Phil said, stepping carefully down the stairs without his cane to stand next to the Captain. Phil deliberately lifted his arm up in what he hoped appeared to be a sweeping gesture and used it to indicate Ward to Skye. Skye caught it this time because she began cutting through the crowd to get toward the center aisle. “I’m sorry to everyone.”

Unfortunately Skye’s efforts to move toward the center of the room were making some noise and Phil saw Ward notice her and stiffen; the tendon on his arm clenching, causing Phil’s heart of stop. Ward could set the bomb off at any moment. Phil had to do something. He couldn’t just stand here and let everyone he loved die. 

But there was no way he could reach Ward in time, so what he needed was a weapon. And while everyone seemed to be armed, the closest long-range weapon was the icer shoved into the Captain’s belt. Phil could easily see it sticking out of his waistband on the side closest to Phil. If Phil could just distract the Captain by the smallest bit, then he could grab the icer and incapacitate Ward. He just had to pray that he would be fast enough.

Phil turned to look the Captain in the eye, stepping closer to him and moving his hand to hover near the Captain’s arm. Hopefully it was coming across as a gesture of sympathy that Phil wasn’t sure about, hence the hovering mid-air. “And Captain, I’m also very very sorry about your cat.” Phil figured that the implication of those words would be enough to panic the Captain on Fluffums behalf. The Captain looked flustered and even more confused that he had been before. 

“Wait, what’s that about a cat?” The Captain asked, but he was already distracted enough that Phil had managed to snatch the icer, letting it slide into his hand, feeling the weight so similar to the guns that Phil had frequently handled in the Rangers. He could have fired those guns blindfolded, never mind with a few cracked ribs, so hopefully that meant he would be able to accomplish his plan in spite of his current handicap. 

Without any further thought Phil pivoted on his good leg and shot Ward right in the center of his forehead. Phil couldn’t take the risk that he was wearing body armor, so he forced himself to take the more difficult headshot. Phil was mainly pleased that his aim had been so good, particularly with his ribs screaming in pain the second he lifted his arm up to shoulder level. 

There was a moment of stunned silence in the chapel that was broken by Ward laughing, which he definitely shouldn’t have been able to do since Phil had just shot him with a tranquilizer. 

Shit. Double shit. They were all going to die in an explosion. Ward must have somehow gotten his hands on the anti-toxin and Phil did not want to contemplate how he’d managed that. Phil felt so stupid, he should have gone for the real gun that Natasha was carrying. Although, he wasn’t sure how he would have gotten it away from her. But he was an idiot for not using lethal force. It was his fault. 

It was his fault that they were all going to die. 

There was a loud pop and then a shower of sparks from the altar and Phil could hear Skye shouting and the whole room was shaking.

Before Phil could move toward Ward, he was tackled to the ground. His ribs screamed in pain, as he was bodily shoved to the ground and a heavy weight settled over him. 

Phil tilted his head off the floor and was barely able to see Melinda hitting Ward in the throat with a trachea strike through the multiple arms that seemed to be trying to cover his head. He watched as Ward tumbled to his knees coughing and gasping for breath as Skye ran up and slapped a pair of binders on him, knocking the detonator away from his hand in the process. 

“Motherfucker!” Phil heard from behind him, followed by the sound of a fire extinguisher. It seemed like Fury had discovered the bomb. Although Phil was pretty confident that Ward had already tried to set it off and Skye’s trick with the Widow’s Bite must have worked. Somehow preventing the C4 from being triggered and instead causing that shower of sparks he’d seen before being thrown to the floor. 

“I want everyone to evacuate!” Hill shouted, “Everyone head to their departmental rally points!” And she started to direct people out of the chapel with her usual efficiency. 

“And someone call the motherfucking bomb squad!” Fury shouted back.

Some of the weight holding Phil down lessened and he was surprised to see the Captain’s shoe coming into view by his ear. Phil found it hard to believe that the Captain had just thrown his body on top of Phil’s to protect him from a bomb that Phil had completely failed to prevent the detonation of. Especially, after Phil had lied to him and made him think he had amnesia. It just really went to illustrate that Captain America was a really good guy. And Phil was such an asshole.

Some of the weight on Phil’s injured right side lifted up and then hands were rolling Phil over onto his left side, a warm dress shirt covered bicep sliding under his head as Natasha knelt in front of him. Her hands coming up to hold his chin as she examined him. Phil’s back was now pressed flush to someone’s chest. Of course, Phil knew who that someone had to be. And it was confirmed as a warm hand wrapped around his waist sending shivering trills of happiness racing up his spine. Only one man had ever made him feel like that, so he let Clint pull him even more snuggly into his arms. Unable to help himself, Phil let his cheek nuzzle Clint’s arm, it felt like he was in a dazed dream. 

Natasha’s hand left his chin and she pulled off his tie and tore open his dress shirt and vest revealing where the bullet was lodged in the body armor. Her face looked pinched. 

Turning to look over her shoulder down the aisle she shouted, “We need a medic here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Phil gasped. It seemed important to apologize again. After all he’d done, he just couldn’t understand why Clint, Natasha, and the Captain had all thrown their bodies over his to try and save him from a bomb. He didn’t deserve that kind of care, even if he would have done the same for any of them. 

“There were moles and Fury wanted …”

“Hush,” Natasha said, sternly, putting her finger on Phil’s lips, “You’ve already exacerbated your no doubt broken ribs enough.” Phil felt Clint’s grumble of agreement where their bodies were nestled together. He closed his eyes and tried to burn this feeling into his brain. He didn’t deserve this kindness, but he never wanted to forget it.

“Make a hole. Medic coming through!” Phil could hear Trip’s voice shouting and then he felt Natasha pull away. When he opened his eyes there was a young medic kneeling in front of him with Trip hovering behind him next to a gurney.

“A hit to the body armor probably just means bruised or broken ribs, but he’ll need to be checked out to rule out the possibility of internal bleeding” the medic said, addressing the entire crowd still around them. 

“He’s still recovering from a bullet wound in his thigh too,” Trip pointed out.

The medic considered this and then stood up. “Alright, lets get him on the gurney. We’ll just have to sort it out with the other casualties at the hospital.” 

Clint’s arm tightened around his waist and then let go, as Trip and the medic lowered a board to the ground. Phil tried not to feel the loss to keenly, but it took all of his willpower not to beg Clint to keep holding him forever. The three of them slid Phil onto the board, even as Phil weakly protested that he could really get there on his own. After all, he’d managed to shoot Ward and if he could do that he could manage to get on a gurney. However, Clint and Trip weren’t having any of that and it seemed the better part of valor to just let them have their way. 

Phil allowed himself to relax, as the medic started pushing the gurney down the aisle. This was not how he’d pictured leaving his wedding. Behind him he could hear the Avengers starting to shout at each other. And felt a wave of guilt and relief that he was leaving before they turned their anger on him swept through him. That was more like how he expected to leave his wedding. With acrimony and betrayal in his wake. 

“Hey,” the Captain shouted over the other voices, “I’m not the one who stole my teammate’s fiancé while he was in a coma!” 

“He wasn’t even your fiancé apparently!” Clint shouted back. And then their voices were lost as Phil was wheeled out into the cold air. 

“They’re evacuating SHIELD medical because of the bomb, boss,” Trip said, “So we’re going to go off site. Probably Bellevue if they aren’t already too overcrowded.” 

Phil nodded. “Thanks, Trip,” he said, grateful beyond words that Trip had taken the many revelations of the afternoon in stride. 

Trip smiled, patting his hand, as the medics loaded Phil into an ambulance, leaving Trip outside. “No worries, boss. We got this.” Phil kind of doubted that, but he smiled anyway. 

Phil ended up in triage at Mount Sinai waiting by himself for several hours before he saw a doctor. The doctor confirmed what had been pretty obvious, Phil’s ribs were definitely bruised, but he did order an x-ray that confirmed the ribs weren’t broken, so that was nice. 

No one (or more particularly, not Clint) had come to sit with him in the hospital while he waited the agonizing pain filled hours for the doctor and Phil knew what that meant without needing an x-ray to confirm it. 

The doctor told Phil to take Tylenol and used an ace bandage to wrap an ice pack to his ribs. He also tried to suggest that Phil might stay overnight for observation, but he gave up on that idea when Phil started threatening to check himself out AMA. So the doctor let Phil go with several ace bandages and even more instant ice packs for his collection.

Phil limped out of the hospital with a borrowed cane, since his own had been abandoned at the chapel. The nurses had tried to force Phil into a wheelchair, but Phil had made his escape while they were debating the matter. He hailed a taxi and gratefully arrived at his apartment. 

After climbing the stairs, Phil shut the door to his apartment and locked it behind him. He leaned back against it and struggled for breath. 

What was he going to do?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past few weeks had been amazing and heartbreaking, but at least they’d helped him realize and almost accept the hateful truth: He would always be alone. And he didn’t deserve anything more.

The next morning Phil woke up to a deep ache in his ribs that echoed the pain and loneliness in his heart.

He struggled out of his rumpled bed and went to the kitchen to get a few ice packs. He dry swallowed some Tylenol and then shuffled over to the couch. He gently lowered himself onto it and tucked one of the ice packs on top of his thigh before draping the other two over his chest, holding them in place with his elbow. He sighed heavily and looked at the unlit Christmas tree. He really needed to take it down and put the decorations away, but he could barely muster the energy to keep his eyes open. 

He had tossed and turned the whole night tormented by much more than the physical pain of his new injury, which was already feeling better with the numbing effect of the ice. He just wished he could somehow numb away the pain of losing the one perfect man who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The one perfect man who he could never have. 

But he had to remember that he could never have had Clint at all, even if he hadn’t built their relationship on a mountain of lies, because he didn’t deserve someone like Clint. Clint deserved all that was good and pure in the world. He deserved someone who knew how to love and be loved. Not someone like Phil.

As Phil lay there staring at the tree, he was forced to acknowledge what was already apparent, the elephant in the room - it just wasn’t possible for him to keep on going as he had been. While he could obviously no longer be the Avenger’s Liaison, he also couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the copy room full time. He would have to leave SHIELD. It wouldn’t be easy to find another job, but maybe Phil wouldn’t look right way. Maybe he would take a trip. 

Maybe he’d go to Italy. He’d always heard it was a nice place to visit. Perhaps he could go to Rome, walk in the ruins of ancient empires. No, better yet he’d go to Florence. He’d lose himself in the narrow walks, stroll along the rivers edge, and maybe, just maybe, he’d rediscover himself. Or was it more proper to say, ‘rebury’? 

After all, that’s what he’d done, unearthed the desire for more in his life than what he had, more than what he deserved. That was why he had to leave, had to escape. He had to stop himself from wanting things he could never have. 

Maybe in Florence he could find the time to teach himself to want only what he already had. To be content in the skin he so reluctantly inhabited. He’d done it before, after all. For years he had been, if not happy, then at least content, first in the Army and later in SHIELD. 

He’d never allowed himself that kind of indulgence before, but maybe now he could let himself take a break and do something purely for himself. Just to give himself a little bit of time to readjust to the life he had been used to. Now that he was back all on his own, without a fiancé or family or anyone who really needed him, it seemed impossible to readjust. But he would just have to apply himself. 

Of course, he would have to go into SHIELD and give his two weeks notice. It wasn’t in Phil’s nature to just walk out, even though it was tempting. So, he would go back … probably to the copy room, since that was more where he belonged than his Liaison’s office. And then he would just give his notice to his old supervisor, Waters, rather than waffling between handing it to Hill or Fury. 

In two weeks he would leave SHIELD for good and then he would be truly free to disappear from New York and from his life until he could once again rest comfortably in his solitary ways. Until he no longer desired a family or friends, because those were things he had never been meant to have. The past few weeks had been amazing and heartbreaking, but at least they’d helped him realize and almost accept the hateful truth: He would always be alone. And he didn’t deserve anything more.

Phil distantly heard his phone ringing in the bedroom, but he didn’t move from the couch; it didn’t seem possible to move. It rang several times over the course of the next three hours as Phil alternated between napping and feeling sorry for himself on the couch, lost in the mire of his depression. When Phil woke with a start in the afternoon sun, the ice packs had warmed up to his body temperature and he could already feel the pain creeping back in. 

Staggering off the couch without an ounce of grace, Phil trudged into the kitchen and half-heartedly ate a bowl of cereal while leaning on his counter. He drank some water with his Tylenol, acknowledging he needed to keep himself hydrated. Then he collected an armful of icepacks and went back to the couch. Arranging himself exactly as he’d been before his brief excursion to the kitchen, Phil closed his eyes and let sleep pull him under for another too brief nap as the cold seeped into his skin. 

He woke to see that the sky outside his window was already darkening. Time had gotten away from him. He let his eyes sag closed again as the Christmas tree lights played over his eyelids in their warm welcoming colors. 

Phil snapped his eyes open. He hadn’t turned on the Christmas tree lights. 

“Are you awake now, LC?” It was Skye. Phil body relaxed without any conscious input from him. He knew he was safe if Skye was here. 

“How did you get in?” Phil asked, his voice coming out muzzy and parched. 

“Turns out one of the things they do actually cover in SHIELD training is how to pick locks. Comes in handy when people won’t answer their phone and you’re worried they’ve fallen down and can’t get up.” 

“Operation Stubborn Sloth,” Phil muttered with a dry and painful laugh. 

The overhead lights flipped on and Skye came into the room, sitting on the coffee table as she looked at Phil.

“It’s a very important operation,” she said with a smile. She reached her hand out and gently pushed on Phil’s arm. “You ok, LC?” 

Phil tried to meet her eyes, but he couldn’t. Instead he just sighed, that was about as optimistic of an answer as he could give. 

“Thai food for dinner?” Skye asked after several long minutes of silence. 

“Do I have a choice?”

“Well, you have to eat, but it doesn’t have to be Thai food. So, yes, there is some choice available here.” 

“You like Thai, so I want that too,” Phil said, levering himself up to sit on the couch like a civilized person. Skye was smiling at him. 

She handed him the remote, “See if anything good is on. I’ll order us some food.”

Phil found the Psych reruns and had them on by the time Skye got back with a big glass of water and a couple more Tylenol tablets. 

Phil dutifully took them and tried not to feel too pathetically grateful, when Skye sat right next to him on the couch, so that their thighs were touching. It was such a real reminder that while he had lost many of his new friends, he hadn’t lost all of them. He still had Skye. He wasn’t as alone as he’d been trying to tell himself. 

“I’m going to quit,” Phil said during one of the commercial breaks, “I’m going to give my two weeks notice on Monday.” 

Skye stiffened noticeably beside him. “Are you sure, LC?” She asked slowly. 

Phil nodded. “I want more, so I’m going to try and find it for myself.” 

“You’ll still hang out with me even if you don’t work at SHIELD, right?” Skye actually seemed worried, which was crazy to Phil. The much more logical outcome would be for Skye to forget about him once he was no longer around every day. 

“We can hang out whenever you like, but I might take a vacation. I haven’t had one in … a long time.” 

Skye turned to look at him. “That’s a great idea. I’m hearing that you want to go to Tahiti with me and laze about on the beach and get therapeutic massages.” 

Phil laughed, “I was thinking Italy, but maybe we can go to Tahiti for the holidays next year.” 

“Good idea, LC. This is why they put you in charge of things. Mad strategic planning skills.”

There was a knock on the door and Skye popped up off the couch like a spring.

“Food!” She crowed happily, making her way to the door. 

“Oh man,” Skye said in a really loud voice from the door. Phil looked toward the hallway leading to the door, wondering what that tone meant. 

“You will not believe who the delivery man is, LC.” Skye stuck her head around the corner of the hallway to look at Phil. For a moment Phil’s heart clenched in painful hope, then Trip’s face appeared, smiling tentatively, above Skye’s head.

Phil let out a burst of laughter at his own stupidity. Not that seeing Trip was a disappointment exactly. It’s just that he wasn’t the one person that Phil was so desperate to see. 

Still, once the chance of Clint was gone, Phil was pleased to see Trip. So he followed up his burst of self-deprecating laughter, with a genuine smile. “Please come in, Trip.” 

“Thanks, boss,” Trip said, coming over to the couch with two giant bags of take out. 

“I’m not your boss anymore,” Phil said absentmindedly, “Are we supposed to eat all of this?”

“There’s supposed to leftovers,” Skye said, “That way you’ll have something to eat for the weekend. 

Trip and Skye sat down on either side of him, making themselves at home and helping themselves to the take out. Skye shoved a box of Pad Thai and a fork into Phil’s hand and he started eating. It seemed so normal to be sitting here with them, but he couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that he’d been lying to Trip, and trying to entrap him as a potential mole, for pretty much the entirety of their acquaintance. 

At the next commercial break, Phil couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I’m sorry,” he said in a rush, “I know I lied, but we were hunting for the mole. Moles. You know what I mean.” 

Trip laughed. “After yesterday I did put a few things together. But don’t worry; I’m not upset that you thought I might be the mole. Apparently my old CO and another of his protégé’s were moles, so I would have to be right up there in the suspect pool. I’m actually mainly glad that I don’t have to worry about killing you with lemon juice anymore. It makes getting you food a lot less stressful.”

“Phil’s quitting,” Skye interjected. 

“I guess I saw that coming,” Trip acknowledged, “Although, obviously I hoped you wouldn’t. I’ve really liked working for you. If you ever need a PA, though, you should call me.”

“I’ll remember that,” Phil said, trying to keep himself from choking up. It was almost too much to know that Trip forgave him for his deception. He couldn’t expect anyone else to be as understanding as Trip, but still it lifted a bit of the weight off of Phil’s chest. 

The three of them sat on the couch, intermittently watching Psych, chatting about Phil’s potential Florence vacation, convincing Trip that he should join their Tahiti holiday adventure next year, and decidedly not talking about the fact that Phil had confessed his love for Hawkeye in front of half of SHIELD at his wedding to Captain America. 

As Skye’s curfew approached, she and Trip combined leftovers and shoved them into his fridge. Phil got off the couch to see them to the door and was surprised when Trip grabbed him in a loose hug before heading out. Skye lingered in the door, looking at Phil with sad eyes. 

“You know it’s ok,” she said after a moment, “It’s ok that you fell in love with him. Things don’t always work out, but you shouldn’t be ashamed that you love him. Love isn’t something to ashamed of.”

“It is when you lied to the person you love,” Phil said, fighting to get the words out. It hurt so much to think about Clint. 

“For what it’s worth, LC. I think he loves you too and I wish it could have worked out for both of you.” 

“Thank you, Skye,” Phil said, this time reaching out asking for the hug before Skye could offer it. But she didn’t turn away, instead she gently wrapped her arms around his back and held on, apparently content to be offering him comfort. 

“It’ll be ok, LC. And I’ll come visit you in the copy room before you leave.” 

Skye pulled back and Phil waved as she sped down the stairs. He closed the door feeling much better than he had when he woke up. He might not be able to ever have Clint, but he wasn’t alone anymore. He just needed to make sure that he didn’t let Skye and Trip fall out of his life because they just might be the start of making a family of his own choosing. 

On Monday morning, Phil went back to work in the copy room, his desk hadn’t yet been reassigned and better yet, had a giant pile of forms for him to bury himself in. So most of the morning flew by. Melinda even had the courtesy to let him be, although Phil didn’t think that would last for long.

At lunch he composed his letter of resignation. After lunch, he gave it to Waters, who – to her credit – didn’t even comment on his abrupt removal from the lofty position of Avengers Liaison or his equally abrupt two weeks notice. 

On Tuesday, Phil worked through lunch. Melinda was not pleased and force-fed him a power bar around 4 pm. 

Phil didn’t even bother going home on Wednesday, instead napping on the floor of his cubicle in the wee hours of the morning with a couple of ice packs for company. Melinda discovered his stupidity the next morning, her arms crossed as she stood above him. Phil did feel pretty stupid with his ribs aching from the hard floor.

“Phil,” she said, shaking her head, “This has got to stop.”

Phil levered himself into a sitting position, pushing his jacket down from where he’d been using it as a blanket. “I just can’t stop thinking about it,” Phli said, “When I’m alone at home, it just runs through my head over and over. And I sit there for hours trying to think about what I could have done differently.” Not to mention, that it seemed like whenever Phil got home all of his energy and willpower sapped away, leaving him convinced that he was undeserving of love or friends. But, of course, he couldn’t tell Melinda that. 

Melinda sighed and lowered herself to sit on the floor with Phil. She put a hand on his forearm and squeezed, looking sad. They sat there in silence, while Phil lost time staring at Melinda’s hand on his arm, reminding himself over and over that she was his friend. That he had friends.

“Skye is coming to have lunch with you today,” Melinda finally said, breaking the pathetic silence Phil hadn’t bothered to end. 

Phil actually felt some of the heavy weight on his shoulders lift at that. He smiled at Melinda, “Thank you. That’ll be really nice.” 

For the rest of Thursday morning, Phil bulldozed through stacks of files with only sheer pig-headed stubbornness for fuel (and coffee, obscene amounts of coffee). At least until lunch, when Skye showed up with Trip in tow to take Phil out of SHIELD. 

“For a full hour, Phil!” Skye scolded, giving Phil a long hug that eased some of the toxic pain that seemed to be constantly building in his heart as the thoughts of his betrayal continued to trickle in.

Phil felt a little more human after eating real food and spending time with people who were still his friends in spite of the stupid lies. And in a great concession to Phil’s rather delicate emotional state, once again no one mentioned the Avengers or the wedding for the entire lunch. Phil was under no illusions that the rest of SHIELD was gossiping at high velocity about him and how pathetic and stupid he was, thinking he could pull either Captain America or Hawkeye. 

At 5pm Phil pulled the last file for the day toward him, relief at finishing his daily allotment already sinking into his bones. 

He flipped open the cover and stopped - frozen in a moment of fear and painful hope, which he forced himself to ruthlessly crush. 

While it did appear that someone had accidentally left a form with a wedding ring taped to it on his desk, the ring definitely wasn’t for him. If for one traitorous second he hoped it was from the one man he wanted to marry – well, it wasn’t. 

Heck, the form wasn’t even one of the kinds he dealt with. It was an HR-0432-01, change in marital status (spouse in SHIELD), form. These were usually sent directly to HR, since they didn’t actually require Phil’s clearance level. 

So Phil reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out an interoffice mailer, writing HR’s mail code from memory on it’s front. Phil then grabbed the form and attempted to stuff it into the envelope, which the heavy ring attached to it made difficult. 

Phil paused, tilting his head slightly. He could have sworn he just heard a whimper, but that couldn’t be right. The office was by no means empty, but people were probably starting to think about going home, no reason for a pained whimper. 

Phil glanced down at the gold ring taped to the form and absently ran a finger over its shiny surface, before forcing himself to look away. His eyes fell on the first line of the form:

“SHIELD Employee filing form: Clinton F. Barton”

Phil gasped. What on earth? His eyes jumped to the next line: 

“SHIELD Employee spouse: Phillip J. Coulson”

Phil barely heard the whispered, “Oh god,” slip out of his mouth. It felt almost like he was caught in a dream, an impossible dream. 

His fingers clutched the paper, turning it into a wrinkled mess. Phil distantly noted he would have to fill out a new form, since it could hardly be sent to HR in such a state, as he took in Clint’s messy signature at the bottom. 

Someone cleared their throat behind him and Phil turned in his chair to see Clint Barton, dressed in his suit from the wedding of all things, blushing and eyeing Phil from under his eyelashes. And good god, were those the Avengers scattered around the room? Was that Fury three desks over? Was that Skye, Trip, and Fitzsimmons peering at him from the hallway leading to the break room?

“Well, will you?” Clint asked. And Phil’s eyes darted back to Clint’s impossibly precious face as he tried to understand what was happening. Unable to bear the heat of Clint’s gaze, Phil looked down at the form still in his hands – at the ring taped to that form. 

“This isn’t the proper way to attach non-paper documentation to official SHIELD paperwork.” Phil could not believe those were the words that came out of his mouth. What was he doing? 

Then Clint’s rough hands were pulling the paper away from Phil’s grasping hands and tearing the ring off, while a small pathetic noise escaped from Phil’s throat. 

But it was ok, it was all ok - because then Clint was down on one knee in front of Phil’s chair. 

“I love you, Phil Coulson. Will you marry me, even though I can’t figure out the proper way to fix an engagement ring to a form?” 

It was so hard to breathe, Phil felt like he couldn’t even get a word out. None of this seemed real, but whether this was real or not there was only one answer he could ever give to Clint’s question … Yes. So Phil found himself nodding and smiling and then Clint’s lips were on his and Phil was able to whisper his ‘yes’ into the invisible space between them. 

As Clint’s hand crept into his hair, Phil felt the self-loathing that had been building since the wedding, finally begin to bleed away. Clint had to have forgiven him, he had to have looked past the lies and seen Phil. It was a heady life-changing kind of joy that fizzed through Phil’s veins on the heels of those thoughts. The self-hatred and pain seemed to slip further and further away as Clint wrapped his arms gently around Phil’s still healing chest and pulled Phil right out of his chair and into the walkway next to his desk. 

Clint set him carefully back on his feet, mindful as always of Phil’s mostly healed leg, while the Avengers and Phil’s coworkers clapped and cheered. Then Clint was leaning his forehead against Phil’s and slipping the golden ring onto Phil’s finger. 

“This means you’ll come back to being our liaison? Right?” Tony shouted, breaking the moment and getting knocked upside the head by Natasha. 

“What?” Tony said, defensively, “It’s a very important question.” 

“We’re getting married whether or not you decide to come back,” Clint informed Phil, looking very serious about the matter. 

Turning slightly toward Tony, Phil diplomatically said, “We’ll see.” But given the possessive way his fingers were clutching at Clint, well, it would certainly be easier to protect his fiancé from harm as the Avengers Liaison. 

Phil physically startled at the realization he’d just refereed to Clint Barton as his fiancé, and it wasn’t pretend. It was real.

Clint raised his eyebrow, cocking his head in silent question. 

“I think I must be dreaming,” Phil confessed. Although, even his dreams hadn’t concocted anything quite so lofty as a future where he married Clint Barton. 

Clint just grinned at him, “Nope, this is as real as it gets, my love.” 

Just hearing that endearment spilling from Clint’s lips was like a deliriously heady shot right into his heart.

“It’s just after all I did …” 

Clint stopped Phil with a kiss. A long thorough kiss, that featured a ridiculous number of wolf whistles and cat calls from the peanut gallery. 

“I forgive you,” Clint said when they separated, “I understand why you had to lie and I forgive you. You’re family, Phil, and a very smart man once told me that forgiveness is what family does.” 

Actual tears stung at the corners of Phil’s eyes and Clint kissed him again, fingers running over the ring he had placed on Phil’s finger. 

After parting for a quick gasping breath, Clint’s lips slid back into place against Phil’s, fitting perfectly like they had never belonged anywhere so completely as they did with Phil, on Phil. Phil couldn’t have stopped himself from parting his lips, from pushing closer, from sliding his tongue into Clint’s mouth if his life had depended on it. Luckily Clint enthusiastically approved of that course of action, pulling Phil even closer with gentle hands, as his tongue swept over Phil’s in a hot heady rush. 

Around them Phil could hear their friends, their family, laughing and calling out encouragement. He could hear Skye joking with Fitzsimmons that they would probably need a crowbar to separate LC and Hawkeye; Trip’s wolf whistle and shouted, “Go get him, boss!”; Natasha telling Melinda that Phil and Clint were both huge idiots and lucky to have friends with brains; the Captain and Pepper trying to prevent Tony from coming over to interfere; Thor giving Fury a giant celebratory hug that Bruce and Hill found hilarious. 

It was amazing. It was all he’d ever wanted wrapped up in one man, who now had a hand in Phil’s hair and seemed to be tilting him back in what was bound to become a very clichéd dip kiss. 

As Phil, clutched at Clint’s shoulders and graciously let him have his way with the dip, he realized that in spite of the odds against him, he’d somehow come out of this debacle with a family, with friends, potentially with a job that wasn’t endless monotony, with the man he loved - and a future he couldn’t wait to meet. 

It was quite possible that lying about being engaged to Captain America had been the best decision of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Phil and Clint's little While You Were Sleeping adventure. I'll be posting a small epilogue in the near future to finish the story. Also, just a heads up, I will be raising the rating from M to E for the epilogue.


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cute,” Skye said, leaning out to look at Phil, “I think this one is a keeper, LC.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, for this chapter I've changed the rating from M to E. If you'd like to skip the sex, just stop reading when Skye makes her escape.

“So how was Florence?” Skye asked, meeting Phil and Clint in the entryway of Clint’s … of their apartment, technically. That was really going to take some getting used to. 

“It was great!” Clint told her, dropping his suitcase in the middle of the entry way and stripping off his jacket, tossing it into its usual home on the back of the couch.

Phil put his own case down by the wall and put his coat in the closet as Clint hopped over the back of the couch to land next to Fluffums. She immediately climbed into his lap and began purring loud enough that Phil could hear it from where he was standing. 

Phil walked over to the couch to drop a kiss on the top of Clint’s head, unable to help himself when all of that tousled hair was in easy kissing distance. Clint and Fluffums both looked up at him as he leant over and Phil felt like his heart was almost too full with how much he loved them both. Clint tilted his head back further, so Phil could place another kiss on his lips. 

“So I’m going to guess the honeymoon was super successful,” Skye said, dropping down on the couch next to Clint. 

“Super doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Phil told her, moving to sit down on Clint’s other side. Clint slid his hand over Phil’s leg, giving it a squeeze, before settling his hand over Phil’s. Phil couldn’t even help the happy sigh. 

Skye rolled her eyes. “It’s not over, is it?”

“Skye, if I have anything to say about it, we are going to be on this honeymoon forever,” Clint said.

“Cute,” Skye said, leaning out to look at Phil, “I think this one is a keeper, LC.”

“I had come to the same conclusion myself,” Phil said, pulling Clint’s hand up to his mouth to press a quick kiss to the back of it. 

“Thanks for looking after Fluffums while we were gone,” Clint said, “I love this purple collar you got her.”

“The rhinestones are a particularly nice touch,” Phil agreed. 

“Yeah,” Skye said, slowly, drawing the word out in a worrying fashion, “About that.” 

“So while you were gone, I was eating breakfast with Iron Man, which by the way was awesome. We had breakfast every morning you were gone, even if we had to eat it at two in the afternoon. I just want to be clear that I love cat sitting for you and that if you ever want to go on a second honeymoon, I’m definitely your girl.”

Phil raised an eyebrow at her.

“Right, anyways. It came up that the Captain hadn’t ever taken Fluffums to the vet, since he’d found her on the street, you know, the morning he was knocked into a coma and all that. So I thought that I’d go ahead and do that for you while you were gone, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it. And Trip came over and pointed out that we should have her spayed too, so we went ahead and made an appointment.”

Phil made a small keep moving gesture. 

“Sorry. I’m just trying to find a tactful way to tell you that when Trip and I took Fluffums to the vet we received some rather upsetting news.” 

“Oh god,” Phil muttered, feeling his blood run cold as Clint’s hand suddenly gripped his in a painfully tight hold.

“Is she sick?” Clint asked with trepidation clear in his voice.

“Oh no. No! God no. Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out. Fluffums is fine. It’s just more of … well, a matter of the fact that we didn’t need the spaying.” 

“Wait she’s pregnant? We’re having kittens?!” Clint said; his voice rising steadily in pitch, so that by the time he reached the word ‘kittens’ he was nearing the upper end of the audible spectrum. Phil had the distinct feeling that this meant they were going to end up raising a litter of kittens at some point, but hopefully not for a couple of years yet.

“No! No kittens, unfortunately. Not that you guys shouldn’t have kittens, that is, if you want kittens.” 

“I think we can put off the kitten decision for now,” Phil interjected before Skye and Clint somehow spontaneously produced a litter of kittens from the power of their combined eager puppy dog eyes. Phil had no doubt that they could manage it. 

“What I’m trying to say,” Skye continued, “Is that we have had to rename Fluffums to Mr. Fluffums. And Mr. Fluffums is scheduled for neutering next week. But no worries, Trip has already volunteered to take him.” 

Phil stared at Skye in bewilderment, trying to process what she was saying. Then he remembered that he had never actually had any reason to think Fluffums was a girl beside gut instinct. And his gut had never been very reliable when it came to naming things (see, Frisky, who was now living contentedly in the corner of the living room in a very fancy and very enclosed tank). 

“You know,” Phil said, looking at Clint, “I probably should have mentioned that I don’t actually know how to tell cat genders. So I kind of just guessed.” 

Clint laughed, shaking his head. He dropped Phil’s hand to scoop Fluffums … Mr. Fluffums out of his lap and cuddle him up to his chest. “Don’t worry, beautiful,” Clint said, rubbing his nose in the fur on the top of his head, “You’ll always be our little princess.” 

Phil reached over and gently scratched at Mr. Fluffums ears. Smiling as Clint looked over at him, his face so content that Phil could feel his heart beat faster in return. Obviously, he would have to find Clint a litter of kittens. He just needed a bit more time to settle into their new life, then he would get right on that. 

“Tony bought the collar as a present for Mr. Fluffums gender reassignment. Well, sort of reassignment. Maybe reassessment would be a better way to put it. Did I mention that I had breakfast with Iron Man every day you were gone? Any chance you want to go have more honeymoon-ing, so Iron Man and I can continue to be breakfast bros?” 

Phil gently cupped the side of Clint’s face, running his thumb over the stubble on his cheek. The rough texture sent a trill of pleasure racing over Phil’s nerves, reminding him of how much he loved having Clint so close to him. It also reminded him that they had been away from home for a long two weeks, which while wonderful had certainly been tiring. 

“Skye, if we ever need a cat sitter, you’re the only person we’re going to call. I promise,” Phil told her, “But for now, I think we’re happy to be back home for a while.” 

“You’ll have to find someone else when we all go to Tahiti for Christmas this year.” 

“Of course,” Phil agreed. It seemed that the proposed Tahiti vacation was acquiring more people by the minute. Phil had caught Skye inviting Fitz and Simmons the day before he left for Florence with Clint. Then he realized, “You invited Tony, didn’t you?”

“Obviously!” Skye said, “He said definitely yes.”

“How wonderful,” Phil said wryly. 

“We’re going to have to rent out the whole island at this rate,” Clint said. “My husband’s ideas are far too good. Everyone wants in on this island Christmas.” 

Clint turned to wiggle his eyebrows at Phil in happy amusement. “I said husband. Did you catch that?” 

Phil smiled at Clint and pulled him in for another quick kiss. “I did notice that, husband-mine. I promise you don’t have to check every time. I am paying attention.”

“Alright,” Skye said, slapping her thighs and standing up, “Well it looks like all is good on the home front. You two are just as sickeningly cute as when you left. All the animals are still alive. And unfortunately, Maria is reinstating my curfew tonight, since I’m still technically a probie and all that.”

“Technically?”

“Fine, officially. I suppose I’m just lucky that Captain America himself asked Fury if I could housesit for you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have had this two week break.”

Phil stood up too to give Skye a hug. “We really do appreciate you watching Fluff … Mr. Fluffums. We didn’t have to worry at all while we were gone.” 

“Instead we just ate lots of gelato and pizza,” Clint agreed, letting Mr. Fluffums jump off his lap, so he could saunter off to his cat tree.

Wait. Cat tree? 

“Was that here when we left?” Phil asked looking at the giant cat playhouse, as Mr. Fluffums scratched at one of its posts before leaping up to a perch that was taller than Phil was.

Skye followed his eyes and then started backing up, grabbing her duffle bag from next to the closet as she edged toward the elevator. 

“You know, I should really get going.”

“Skye,” Phil said in reproving tones. 

“You two have fun. Don’t celebrate being home from the honeymoon too much!” She called, hitting the down elevator button repeatedly.

“But where did it come from?” Phil asked, as Clint wandered over to peer at it and pat Mr. Fluffums head.

“Did Stark buy it?” Phil looked at Skye and saw that she had practically plastered herself to the, as yet, unopened elevator doors. 

“I couldn’t really say,” Skye said, with a weak smile. 

The doors slid open behind Skye and she stumbled back into the elevator, violently hitting the floor buttons as she went. Phil was fairly certain she’d be visiting half of Stark Tower on the way down. 

“I’ll see you later!” Skye called, as the doors slid closed on her waving at Phil. 

Phil was half-tempted to ask Jarvis to bring her back up, so he could get a straight answer out of her, but he decided to let her make her escape. After all, he was just back from his honeymoon; he could afford to be magnanimous a little longer.

Wandering back into the living room, Phil found that Mr. Fluffums was in residence in his new Kitty Palace, but that his husband had disappeared. Husband, Phil thought again, just to feel that warm flush of pleasure soaking into his soul. He never wanted to get used to that feeling. 

“Phil,” Clint called from the bedroom, drawing Phil inexorably in his direction. 

Phil found Clint staring into his closet. Except it really didn’t look as much like Clint’s closet anymore. The majority of it appeared to be occupied by Phil’s old suits. 

Clint turned to look at Phil, eyeing him almost bashfully from under his eyelashes. “I know you wanted to move your own things, but it looks like the team took care of it for you.” 

Phil looked around the bedroom, noting that the few things of his that had not migrated to Clint’s on their own, were now in residence. 

“Welcome home,” Clint whispered, his voice warm in Phil’s ear, as he snuck up behind him and wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist, pulling him close. 

Phil shook his head in amusement; his husband had probably been the one to suggest moving the rest of Phil’s things while they were gone. In fact, he’d probably put Skye in charge of the whole thing. While Phil had expressed a desire to move his own stuff, he couldn’t deny how right it felt to come home and see his things mixed in with Clint’s. He would have to make sure and thank Skye for her help. 

“You asked her to do it, didn’t you?” Phil tilted his head back onto Clint’s shoulder and let his nose settle against the hinge of Clint’s jaw. 

Clint huffed a laugh. “I thought we were blaming Tony.” 

“You can blame him for the cat tree if you like,” Phil conceded, although he had a sneaking suspicion that Clint had asked Skye to find that too. 

During their month long engagement, and subsequent permanent of adoption of Mr. Fluffums, they hadn’t really spent a lot of time shopping for cat furniture, but Phil had already gotten the feeling that Clint was coveting a kitty castle. Particularly when one considered the number and astounding variety of carefully constructed cardboard forts that had been Mr. Fluffums domain before their trip. 

“You are so very kind to me,” Clint said, sliding his hand up Phil’s chest. Phil obligingly shuddered in response, choking on a groan, as Clint’s hand ended up on his jaw, pulling Phil into a warm and thorough kiss, even if it required Phil to adopt a slightly contortionist pose. But Clint seemed to enjoy kissing from any and all angles, so Phil was learning to adapt. 

“How very convenient that I married you,” Clint said, pulling back from the kiss to turn Phil in his arms, so that he could pull Phil flush against his chest and kiss him again. Phil’s thoughts started to go a little hazy, which he had found was one of the many side effects of kissing Clint. In general, it seemed to reduce his ability to think about anything except Clint and how much he wanted him. 

“Love you,” Phil managed to get out when they broke for air again. 

Clint chuckled, “You like to say that after we kiss, don’t you?” Phil nodded, pressing his lips against the pulse throbbing on Clint’s neck. 

Clint clutched at Phil’s hair with his hand, pulling Phil away from his neck for another deep kiss. 

“I love you too, you know,” Clint said, as he steered Phil over to the bed … to their bed, pushing him back on it before setting to work, untying Phil’s shoes and then yanking off his pants.

“I know,” Phil agreed, contributing to Clint’s attempts to strip him by pulling his sweater and undershirt over his head. 

Clint’s swiftly indrawn breath when Phil managed to extract himself was very gratifying, even if Phil really didn’t understand the appeal, especially when he compared himself to Clint, who definitely gave some of the Italian statuary they’d viewed a run for its money in terms of muscle definition. 

Phil pushed himself up onto his elbows and then up to sitting, so he could start tugging on Clint’s shirt. Clint obligingly pulled his shirt off, before pushing Phil back onto the bed, their chests pressing together as Clint gave Phil another deep kiss, nipping at his bottom lip and then diving back for more. Phil clutched his hands on Clint’s bare back, sliding them slowly down to inch under the waistband of Clint’s pants. 

“I want,” Phil panted, when Clint pulled away to gasp for breath, “I want.” But he couldn’t finish as Clint’s lips crashed back to his. 

Letting his leg’s slide apart, Phil shuddered as Clint settled between them, the rough texture of Clint’s blue jeans rubbing against his bare legs, making Phil unbearably aroused. Phil tucked his right leg over Clint’s and rolled them to the left. It was a thrill to know that Clint would let Phil move him like that. 

“Careful,” Clint muttered, running his hand along Phil’s leg to settle over the scar that had been left by the bullet wound from two and a half months ago. 

“It’s healed,” Phil reminded him, pushing himself up to straddle Clint’s thighs, so that he could get at the button and zipper on Clint’s jeans. “I’m actually a little surprised you’ve forgotten the day Dr. Streiten declared my leg good as new,” Phil remarked, licking a slow stripe up the side of Clint’s neck. It didn’t even make sense how good he tasted. 

“Trust me,” Clint moaned, his voice low and gravely with arousal, “I’m never going to forget the first time you threw me on this bed and had your way with me.” Clint accompanied this declaration by reaching down and capturing Phil’s left hand with his, knocking their wedding rings together. 

“I seem to remember there being less throwing and more you insisting I need to sit down every five seconds,” Phil said, finally managing to slide Clint’s zipper down, even with only one hand. 

Clint let out an indecent sigh, as his erection was released from his skintight jeans. 

Phil bent down and pressed a kiss to Clint’s lower belly, sliding their joined hands down to rub over Clint’s cloth covered dick. 

“Do … Do you want me to get,” Clint interrupted himself with a moan, as Phil slid his hand inside of Clint’s boxer briefs and gave his cock a firm squeeze. 

“Yes?” Phil said, loosening his hold, taking the time to enjoy Clint’s head tossed back on the comforter as he tried to gather his thoughts. 

“I could get an ice pack, for old time’s sake,” Clint finally said, lifting his head to give Phil a rakish smile. 

Phil laughed, “To think, I’d almost forgotten that I spent most of the first time we made love talking you out of icing my leg.”

“Only the beginning parts,” Clint pointed out, “I was a little distracted after that.” Phil had been a little distracted for the entirety of their first time, but he had to admit that the ending, particularly when Clint had been clutching him close as his cock slid in and out of Phil in slow sure strokes, had been distracting on a whole new level. And Phil was willing to bet that icepacks and injured legs had been about the last thing on Clint’s mind when he drove both of them over the edge and into orgasms that seemed to last for an eternity. 

Clint pulled on their joined hands, drawing Phil up the bed to lie beside him, kissing him sloppily as he shimmied out of his pants and underwear. 

Phil was so thoroughly distracted by the antics Clint’s tongue was getting up to in his mouth that he almost missed Clint inching down his boxers. But he definitely didn’t miss it when Clint’s cock pressed up against his, warm and sticky and entirely welcome. Phil clutched Clint closer to him reflexively, rocking his hips to feel that electric tingling joy racing up his spine. It still amazed him that he could have this. Could have Clint, in spite of all the ways he’d almost ruined everything. 

“You’re thinking too much again,” Clint whispered into the shell of Phil’s ear, rolling onto his back and pulling Phil on top of him. 

“Am I allowed to think about how lucky I am to be here with you?” Phil whispered back, into the hollow of Clint’s collarbone as he nuzzled against it. 

Clint bucked up against him and Phil felt himself harden even more as Clint’s cock pressed roughly against his. Phil groaned when Clint pulled back and licked his hand, sliding it down between their bodies to hold their cocks together. Phil felt his focus slipping, as he almost lost himself in the feel of Clint’s rough callouses and the silky steel of Clint’s dick bracketing his own throbbing cock. 

Clint pulled his hand away too soon; opting to thread all of his fingers through Phil’s hair, while Phil inched briefly back from the edge of orgasm. Tugging gently on Phil’s hair, Clint placed a fluttering kiss on the side of Phil’s neck. “I suppose that’s alright,” Clint conceded, in reference to Phil’s half-forgotten question, “I like to think about how lucky I am that you’re here too, so fair’s fair.” 

Phil couldn’t find the brainpower to form a reply of real words, so he settled for moaning Clint’s name, as Clint’s teeth nipped at his neck, no doubt attempting to form a hickey that Phil wouldn’t be able to hide beneath his shirts. But Phil would just have to worry about that later, at some point when it didn’t feel so fucking amazing. 

Phil tugged Clint’s leg up over his hip, using his knees and newfound leverage to grind their dicks together and it was so good. Pleasure was lighting up Phil’s senses, all of it seeming to radiate from Clint. All of it for Clint. 

Clint was moaning out loud now, throaty and uninhibited. Phil had grown quickly addicted to that sound, knowing he’d never hear it enough from the first time when Clint had been sunk deep inside of him and Phil had been able to feel the moan reverberating through his bones like he his entire body had been tuned for just that moment, just for Clint. Phil loved it, loved that he could press himself to Clint and just feel. 

Clint slid his hand down Phil’s back and pressed his questing fingers to Phil’s ass, caressing Phil’s hole and putting just the right amount of dry pressure on it, letting Phil know that his finger was there, but not quite pushing it inside. 

Phil felt like lightning was racing through his veins now and he shuddered as he drove his cock into the space next to Clint’s, relishing the feel of being surrounded by Clint. 

“Come on,” Clint panted, “I want your come on me. I want to feel it.” 

Clint was going to be the death of him, especially when he curled his fingers, putting even more pressure on Phil’s hole, dissolving Phil’s bones with delicious friction as he let the tip of one finger just barely slip inside.

Phil groaned Clint’s name helplessly as he came, his come slicking the way as Clint continued to thrust against him before crying out himself, spilling between them. 

They lay together panting for a moment before Clint moved his fingers away from Phil’s ass, settling them into the small of his back instead. That gave Phil back a few of his brain cells, so he pressed a careful kiss to Clint’s sweat slick brow, kissing down over the bridge of his nose until their lips met in warm lazy kiss. 

“Now that’s what I call a welcome home,” Clint said, rubbing his nose against Phil’s. 

Phil chuckled and slid slightly to the side, giving Clint a little more breathing room. 

“I feel very welcome,” Phil said, petting Clint’s chest absentmindedly as he tucked his head into the side of Clint’s neck.

Clint brushed his hand over the side of Phil’s face, nuzzling Phil even closer. 

“I love you,” Clint said quietly.

“Love you too,” Phil mumbled, half-hearted thoughts about getting cleaned up wandering through his brain. 

They lay entwined for another five minutes as Phil’s eyes drooped steadily, sleep inexorably beginning to creep over him as their long day of travel (and recent exercise) caught up with him. Blearily shaking it off, Phil soothed Clint’s wordless protests and climbed out of bed to grab a washcloth from the bathroom and clean them both up. 

Climbing back into Clint’s embrace, Phil pulled the sheet over them as he settled back into his previous position. Phil practically purred in pleasure as Clint lazily ran a hand up and down his back. 

Phil was almost asleep, when Clint said, “Have I mentioned lately how glad I am that you went and got yourself fake-engaged to Captain America?”

Phil roused himself just enough to smack his beloved husband in the face with a pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!


End file.
